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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29871420">you'd rather lie than fall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxbegone/pseuds/maxbegone'>maxbegone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And all that jazz, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, New York, Recreational Drug Use, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Unexpected Friendship, implied/referenced eating disorder, questionable knowledge of art; probably incorrect regardless of research, they get back together dw, this is technically a prompt fill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:00:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29871420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxbegone/pseuds/maxbegone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Stevie,”</i> he starts, tears brimming his eyes. “I can’t stay here. I... I should have seen it all coming. I should have known that—” A hiccup escapes him and he swallows, hard. “That everything good was just going to fall apart. It always does. Nothing works out for me.”</p><p>“That’s not true, David. Look what you’ve created.” She throws a hand out in the general direction of the town. “You guys can...you can work through this. There are other options.”</p><p>“Nope.” David is adamant, then, righting his face of any emotion. “Running away was what I did in the past, I can do it again now.”</p><p>—</p><p>David should have suspected it. Patrick was <i>too</i> perfect in all his neat and organized glory. He should have seen Rachel coming from a mile away. </p><p>That was five months ago. There’s no rekindling that now.</p><p>The other shoe drops and David really does leave Schitt’s Creek for New York, only to find that in a city of eight million people, it’s still very easy to be lonely. But bumping into the one person he never expected to on his morning coffee run might just lead to a friendship he never knew he needed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>David Rose &amp; Rachel, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd &amp; David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>310</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/gifts">yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyblaine/pseuds/middyblue">middyblue</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilythesilly/pseuds/lilythesilly">lilythesilly</a> for giving this thing a quick read to make sure it flowed even though several chapters were half-finished. Thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangLang/pseuds/High-Seas-Swan">High-Seas-Swan</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/danieljradcliffe/pseuds/danieljradcliffe">danieljradcliffe</a> for letting me bounce ideas off you/complain when I couldn't figure out what to write next.</p><p>Thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishyspots/pseuds/fishyspots">fishyspots</a> for your brilliant Instagram captions in an early chatper.</p><p>Thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagface/pseuds/hagface">hagface</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetomkatwholived/pseuds/thetomkatwholived">thetomkatwholived</a> for helping me with a very specific scene later in the story.</p><p>And to the lovely MJ. <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau">yourbuttervoicedbeau</a> this fic is entirely your fault and would never have come to be without you sending that ask for the fic title meme. Happy birthday, I'm sorry for what I've done to our boys.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“…it's just that my truth is that I am damaged goods, and this has really messed things up for me. And I think I need some time with it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Stevie: dude u better be awake rn.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Stevie: david. </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Stevie: holy fuck answer the fucking door!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>David tosses his phone aside with a grumble. It’s barely half past nine and if Stevie’s texts haven’t woken him up, his apartment buzzer sure has.</p><p>Swinging his legs off the side of the bed he stands, rubbing at his eyes as he stumbles to his door. He hits the button to let her up and waits, pressing his forehead into the cool wall until he hears a fist pound the door three times.</p><p>“Jesus, you’re a menace.”</p><p>Stevie walks in, drink tray in one hand, her bag in the other which she immediately tosses onto the floor. She pulls her lips tight as she eyes David up and down. “Ya look good.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m hungover. What do you want?”</p><p>David slumps onto the couch, sprawling out so there’s no room for Stevie to sit. She can have his desk chair, it’s fine.</p><p>Honestly, when he moved back to New York, David wasn’t expecting to actually find a place alone, thinking he’d have to give in to roommates, but here he is; a tiny studio apartment down in Brooklyn with a great view of...another fucking building.</p><p>It’s fine, really. At least he’s back where he belongs.</p><p>“I came to visit.” She hands him a paper cup. “Which you knew I was going to be doing.”</p><p>“Stevie,” he gripes, “I don’t need a babysitter. Alexis was here last month to ‘check up on me’ or whatever. She already nagged me for leaving everyone behind—”</p><p>“Which you did.”</p><p>David glares at her, but it’s without heat. “I know.” He sips his coffee tentatively, half-wondering if Stevie put something in it that would knock him out, giving her ample time to drag him back to Schitt’s Creek.</p><p>Back to—</p><p>No. No, he’s not going there.</p><p>Stevie sits cross-legged in the desk chair, steadying herself so it doesn’t spin. “When was the last time you talked to your parents?”</p><p>David sighs. “Last week.”</p><p>She narrows her eyes. “Really? Because your dad told me that he hasn’t heard from you in—”</p><p>“Fine! Two weeks! I’ve been busy.”</p><p>Stevie puts her hands up defensively. “Okay. Whatever you say.”</p><p>They go quiet, the sounds of the city and rumbling trucks acting as white noise. David’s hangover isn’t like the killer ones he got when he was much younger, but the dull throb of his temples is still unwelcome. He can’t handle his alcohol like he used to, sure, but he wasn’t going to tell anyone that on a night out.</p><p>These new...acquaintances. He refuses to call them friends because they’re <em>not.</em> They’re just people he works with. He’s not looking for friends right now, he just wants to stay as anonymous as possible.</p><p>“We miss you.”</p><p>David perks up at that, moves upright to look at Stevie who’s worrying her bottom lip.</p><p>“Everyone does,” she clarifies without letting him ask who. “The whole town.”</p><p>“Hard to think a whole town could miss this.” He gestures to himself in his state of disarray; rumpled sleep shirt and pants, heavy bags under his eyes, a five-o-clock shadow that he desperately needs to shave. “I’m a mess.”</p><p>Granted, Stevie’s seen it before once or twice. She’s seen a lot of ugly parts he doesn't show anyone else. <em>Hadn’t </em>shown anyone else before…</p><p>Yeah.</p><p>“You’re right. You are a mess. And to think I was actually going to treat you to breakfast.”</p><p>David groans and pulls himself off the couch. “Fine. Give me half an hour.”</p><p>“I’ll give you twenty minutes,” Stevie retorts, pulling out her phone. “I will gladly leave without you.”</p><p>“Because you know your way around Brooklyn.”</p><p>She blinks at him. “Google Maps.”</p><p>“You’re the worst,” he says, and slams the bathroom door.</p><p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Five Months Ago, November</em>
</p><p>“David. <em>David. </em>What the hell are you doing?”</p><p>Stevie’s standing by his door, brows pinched together as he flies around the room, pulling every item of clothing out of his closet. He’ll have to make a run to the honeymoon suite next, grab as many things as he can and shove them in his suitcases.</p><p>“I can’t—I have to leave.”</p><p><em>“Leave?” </em>She gawks. “Where the hell are you even going?”</p><p>“I don’t know, Stevie. New York?” He clicks one suitcase shut and moves on to his next. “I can’t stay, I just...I have to get out of here.”</p><p>“Okay…” She steps forward. “At the risk of sounding clingy, don’t you think you’re being just a little overdramatic?”</p><p>David sighs. <em>“Stevie,” </em>he starts, tears brimming his eyes. “I can’t stay here. I... I should have seen it all coming. I should have known that—” A hiccup escapes him and he swallows, hard. “That everything good was just going to fall apart. It always does. Nothing works out for me.”</p><p>“That’s not true, David. Look what you’ve created.” She throws a hand out in the general direction of the town. “You guys can...you can work through this. There are other options.”</p><p>“Nope.” David is adamant, then, righting his face of any emotion. “Running away was what I did in the past, I can do it again now.”</p><p>Stevie falls silent and David makes a point not to look at the tears that are brimming in her own eyes. “Do you even have a place to stay?” She asks stiffly after a moment.</p><p>David nods. “I do, actually. Small, but who am I to complain? I’ve been living in a motel for almost two years.”</p><p>It actually makes her laugh, even if it is weak. “You really have to go?”</p><p>The thing is, David really doesn’t want to. He wants to stay right here in this dingy motel room with the teal walls, where his sister sleeps three feet away, his parents just next door. He wants to grow his business, to prove that he’s done so much more than people would have expected of someone like him — someone who’s lost everything.</p><p>But. “Yes.” He gives Stevie an apologetic look. He doesn’t want to leave her, either. “For now, at least,” he adds, for good measure.</p><p>“Okay.” She rushes forward and barrels into him, knocking David back a few steps to the point where he almost falls onto Alexis’s bed. “I’ll drive you,” Stevie mumbles into his chest. “Just...don’t fucking forget about me.”</p><p>For the first time in days, he feels a little lighter. Just an infinitesimal amount. He wraps his arms around his best friend tight.</p><p>“Couldn’t if I tried.”</p><p>David makes quick arrangements after he and Stevie carry over (most of) his wardrobe from where it’s all stored a few rooms down. When Alexis comes in from her run, earbuds hanging around her neck, she doesn’t say anything to try and convince David otherwise. She did enough of it this morning when he announced his decision to his family and instead just asks what he needs help with.</p><p>Stevie finds some old boxes to store non-clothing items in and has everything packed in her car in time to leave the next morning. That night, unable to sleep, David looks into the process for relinquishing his ownership in the store and files for the necessary paperwork, and upon noting that it would take a little while, he passes his keys and vendor contact information which he already knows Patrick has off to Stevie.</p><p>“He has full control,” David states to her solemnly. It hurts more than he cares to admit, letting the store, his baby, go. “He can do whatever he wants with it. It’s his.”</p><p>Stevie opens her mouth to say something but stops herself, nodding instead and taking everything he hands her. “I’ll drop it off when I get back.”</p><p>His lips twitch the slightest bit. “Thank you for driving me. And I’m sorry for leaving, I just—”</p><p>“Hey.” She kicks at his foot. “You gotta do what you gotta do, right?”</p><p>Pushing aside any worries, David says, “Right,” with a nod and pats his thighs. “I’m gonna get some sleep. See you tomorrow?”</p><p>“I’ll bring coffee and we’ll make a whole thing out of it.”</p><p>That eases the nerves in his stomach just a little.</p><p>They’re on the road just after ten the next morning, but not before his parents drag out their goodbyes. While his father hugs him for far longer than he would like, his mother stands off to the side in a way that is entirely uncharacteristic of Moira Rose. No tears, no dramatic wailing, just silence and pursed red lips. It’s too stoic.</p><p>“I’ve gotta go,” David says to her hoarsely.</p><p>At that, she steps forward and cups his face in her hands. “Be careful, my darling.”</p><p>She says it with more love than David has ever heard from her before and it nearly makes him crumble. He nods, taking her in his arms for one brief moment then steps off to Alexis whose hair is twisted tightly around her finger.</p><p>“Make sure you go to all the best spots so I can live vicariously through you,” she instructs with a hint of a smile. “And maybe send me something nice.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, we’ll see,” he replies, rolling his eyes before falling silent for a second. “Hey, um...make sure Mom doesn’t end up in the closet for a week.”</p><p>Alexis nods.</p><p>“Or Dad. Not that he’ll lock himself in there, but you know what I mean.”</p><p>“Yeah.” She rocks upward on her tiptoes. “He does tend to get a little overemotional, doesn’t he?”</p><p>David hums, gives Alexis a squeeze on the arm and walks over to Stevie’s car where it’s ready and waiting. He climbs into the passenger seat, pulling his seatbelt over his shoulder when Alexis runs up to the open window.</p><p>“Hey, David?” Her voice is nearly caught in her throat, and it’s making David’s own tighten up. “Let us know when you get there, ‘kay?”</p><p>Unable to say anything he nods, turning away from his sister’s sad smile.</p><p>“Drive safe!” She calls as they drive away.</p><p>Stevie doesn’t say anything when tears silently spill down his face as they reach the town limits, or three hours in when she skips over <em>The Best </em>as soon as the opening notes play. She doesn’t mention Patrick or ask if David is making the right decision because she knows that this is what he needs.</p><p>Because Stevie Budd is a good friend.</p><p>What he needs is to move away and start over, this time with his family supporting and knowing about his endeavors. He needs distance between him and the man he’d otherwise see everyday if he didn’t, who’s been nothing but good to him.</p><p>David really only lets himself fall apart after he’s completely settled into his bare-bones apartment, making a mental list of all the things he needs to buy to call it his own.</p><p>When he closes the door and locks it behind Stevie after hugging her tightly, holding back tears with a vice grip, it’s then that he collapses to the floor and sobs.</p><p>He’s starting from scratch in this city that he once loved with every fiber of his being, and maybe that’s a good thing. He can reinvent himself a little bit -- or not at all, depending on the situation. David can be a brand new person or stay exactly the same.</p><p>There’s no one from his old crowd to impress, he doesn’t have to follow anyone. He can make his own decisions, the ones that benefit him. He can make himself happy here — he has to. It’s a clean slate, it's what David needs. </p><p>He can rewrite his history, the history from before life ripped everything out from under him and tossed his family into a dusty that showed him a kind of happiness he never thought he deserved. Until recently when the survivors from an emotional implosion walked off in different directions.</p><p>
  <em>Stop it.</em>
</p><p>With a clogged sniff, David pulls himself together. He can do this.</p><p>He has to.</p><p>It’s just going to take some getting used to…</p><p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Present Day</em>
</p><p>“How’s the motel?”</p><p>Stevie huffs into her coffee. “Well, you already know that we brought Roland on to work with us.”</p><p>David’s brows shoot up. “Which I still think you’re insane for doing, but yes.”</p><p>“Listen, your dad’s the one who said yes.”</p><p>“And I’m still convinced he’s lost his mind.”</p><p>“As annoying as he is, Roland’s actually been pretty helpful.” She purses her lips. “Kind of helpful,” she mends, and then: “Okay, I had to physically escort him out of the office the other day so he would clean out the gutters and stop telling me about the thing on his back.”</p><p>David makes a face. “Ew.”</p><p>“Yeah, you have any room in your little studio apartment?”</p><p>“Not likely,” he replies, scrunching up his nose and cutting into his waffles. “Is that why it took you so long to visit me? You had to corral Roland before he set the place on fire?”</p><p>“No,” Stevie says, slightly strained. “We’re just both working hard and it just happens to be my turn to babysit you for a weekend in the schedule Alexis and I drew up.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, is that your way of saying you missed me?” David smirks, thoroughly enjoying the way his best friend is slowly sliding down the vinyl booth across from him.</p><p>“Nope. Barely even noticed you left.”</p><p><em>There it is. </em>“Uh-huh.” He takes a bite of his food, swallowing before he continues. “So who else is on this ‘babysitting’ roster? Which I’m a little offended about, by the way.”</p><p>“I’ll take that into consideration. Just me and your sister,” Stevie confirms.</p><p>“Mm, god forbid my mother decides to make a spontaneous visit to New York to see her only son.” David puts up a finger. “On second thought, maybe it’s for the best. I really don’t need her commenting on my place.”</p><p>“Your mother has lived in a motel room for over two years with utilities that admittedly are a little outdated. Who is she to judge?”</p><p>“A <em>little?”</em></p><p>Stevie narrows her eyes. “Besides, she’s not going anywhere without your dad. You know that.”</p><p>“I mean, if she books that Crows gig in Bosnia she keeps talking about she might, but that’s TBD.”</p><p>“I can only imagine what Mr. Rose would be like without her,” Stevie muses with a shake of her head. “They’re attached at the hip.”</p><p>David squints. “Yeah, just keep an eye out for him. Last time my mom went away without him it was just for a weekend to Napa for some co-star’s 50th. He moped around the house and called me and Alexis every three hours on the dot.”</p><p>“That sounds fun,” Stevie says, her eyes widening. </p><p>“They’ve never actually been apart for more than eight days.”</p><p>“It must be nice to have someone who cares about you so much,” she muses with a little hum. “Especially after forty years.”</p><p>“Yeah,” David breathes, “it must be.”</p><p>“Like, they still <em>like </em>each other.”</p><p>He blinks. “I know. It’s gross.”</p><p>Across the table, Stevie’s face falls into something sympathetic. She doesn’t rub it in his face and say, <em>“You did have that,”</em> or spin it even further with something like, <em>“You fucked it up.”</em></p><p>Truth be told, as much as he hates it, David thinks about Patrick more often than he’ll admit.</p><p>And he won’t say aloud that tucked at the very bottom of the cedar chest Mutt built him, buried under his knits, is the framed receipt from Rose Apothecary's opening day. The second he lets his mind wander to it, or when he’s digging around for something to wear and his fingers brush the glass, he’s riddled with emotions he isn’t equipped enough to deal with.</p><p>But David couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind either.</p><p>He’s still so proud of what he managed to build, even though it doesn’t legally belong to him anymore.</p><p>“So why were you so hungover this morning?” Stevie asks, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. Which — thank <em>god.</em></p><p>“I went out with some people after work last night,” is David’s simple answer. “Nothing crazy, but they kept ordering and who am I to say no? Especially when we were at a place that actually knows how to make a Cosmo.” He gives Stevie a knowing look. The Wobbly Elm <em>never </em>managed to figure out the proper cranberry-vodka-lime ratio.</p><p>“And how is work?”</p><p>“Is this really who we’ve become?” David asks, mildly affronted. “People who make smalltalk about each other’s jobs? What are we gonna do next, talk about the weather?”</p><p>“Well it <em>is </em>a lovely day,” Stevie starts, but David puts up a finger again.</p><p>“Okay, don’t start quoting Bill Withers.”</p><p>“David, you had that song on repeat last week. I saw it on Spotify.”</p><p>He shakes his head. “Why did I ever agree to get that family plan with you?”</p><p>“Because I’m broke and I’m your best friend and I need to know that your tastes haven’t changed when it comes to power divas.”</p><p>“Mm, you’ve got me there.”</p><p>She smirks. “With which part?”</p><p>“You being broke.”</p><p>“Oh, in that case I guess you’re buying breakfast.”</p><p>David would scoff, but who is he to argue?</p><p>He takes Stevie around the entire day, buying way too many baked goods at a farmer’s market in Columbus Park before scoping out Greenlight on Fulton. Stevie complains about walking too much, tugging her denim jacket tighter around her frame as the wind blows at them between the buildings.</p><p>At night she makes him David watch some campy thriller/horror movie from the 70’s while they devour a pizza and a bottle of wine. It’s nice, it’s like old times again when he would go to her apartment or Stevie would force her way into his motel room with the promise of booze.</p><p>For a minute, David forgets that he’s in New York and not back in Schitt’s Creek.</p><p>David makes his way to bed once Stevie finally conks out, curled up on the sofa. He tiptoes around her, plugs in his phone and settles back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.</p><p>Stevie’s snuffling noises are just the slightest bit unnerving, but not in the sense that they’re <em>annoying</em> — David roomed with his sister, he can handle that sort of thing — but a realization hits him that he wasn’t expecting.</p><p>This is the first time since he moved here that David has someone staying over in his apartment. When Alexis visited, she refused to stay with him saying that she was now spoiled with having her own space and booked a cheap hotel room instead (apparently Ted had taught her about Groupon, so that was new information). </p><p>There hasn’t been one hookup or stranger to bring back to bed because, really, he’s been entirely uninterested. Where David of a few years ago would have been more than happy to have a warm body to lay next to just to feel the slightest semblance of <em>something </em>for a few hours at night, he’s completely fine being alone now. In fact, he prefers it. Or he’s convinced himself he prefers it, honestly he hasn’t dug that deep.</p><p>What the hell does that say about him?</p><p>David pinches the bridge of his nose and puffs out a sharp breath. God, he really doesn’t want to cry tonight. Not when Stevie is <em>right there.</em></p><p>Not when she’s crawling into bed with him apparently — <em>what? </em></p><p>“What the--<em>ow! </em>Why are you hitting me?”</p><p>“Move over,” she grumbles sleepily, shoving his shoulder. “Your couch is uncomfortable.”</p><p>“Sleep on the floor,” David hisses mildly, but moves anyway.</p><p>“Fuck no.”</p><p>They shuffle around and readjust the covers until Stevie takes one of his pillows hostage in her arms and stills. Her breathing evens out enough to actively lull David into a state of calm, his mind quieting.</p><p>“David?” She suddenly whispers, startling him a little because he could have sworn she fell asleep.</p><p>He hums in response, eyes trained on his ceiling once again.</p><p>“Are you happy?”</p><p>David hesitates. Is he happy? Content, maybe <em>fine</em>. But happy? Who even knows anymore?</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He hears the click of Stevie’s throat as she swallows, the rush of breath as she inhales. “Okay,” she says quietly, but she sees right through it, he knows she does.</p><p>And suddenly, just as he’s drifting off, David realizes that <em>this </em>is the first time in the six months he’s moved back to New York that he’s sharing a bed with anyone. Not a stranger, not an old fling he’s dug up from his contacts, but Stevie. The one person currently in his life that truly knows him inside and out.</p><p>He prefers this to all variables. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishyspots/pseuds/fishyspots">fishyspots</a> for your help with the Instagram captions in this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Monday morning hits him with a crash and a bang — literally.</p><p>A moving truck across from his building decides to unload starting at <em>eight-fucking-thirty,</em> and the roll-up door on the back makes an echoing clang that sends David groaning the second he cracks his eyes open.</p><p>If looks could kill, the movers across the street would have fallen over from the glare David gave them through the window, even six stories up with their backs turned. Who the fuck moves in on a Monday? And why couldn’t they have waited for a weekend, preferably in the afternoon?</p><p>Unhappily interrupted, David stumbles through his morning routine, barely making it out of his apartment before ten, bag gripped in one hand as he rushes down the street. He was told to be at the gallery by 11:30 so he could meet with a potential buyer. Checking the time, he has just enough to stop by Partners before heading into Chelsea.</p><p>A few years ago David wouldn’t spare the New York subway system a second glance with its germ-infested cars. He would call a town car or an Uber or walk if feasible when he needed to get somewhere. But he’s a different person now, one who carries at least two travel-sized bottles of hand sanitizer at all times and has a MetroCard. It took some getting used to, but David’s got the lines down-pat now.</p><p>Not that he could ride any of them with his eyes closed, even metaphorically speaking. The last thing David needs is someone pickpocketing him during rush hour.</p><p>The occasional performers in the stations aren’t a bad touch, either. The ones <em>on</em> the train though? Different story.</p><p>The line at Partners is thankfully not as long as David would have expected for mid-morning on a Monday, but the tables are packed with students and remote workers. He’s greeted with the soothing scent of coffee and pastries when he enters, sliding off his sunglasses to skim the menu even though he has a usual.</p><p>He orders with some scrawny kid with a backward hat, long hair, and a pornstache that has David really biting his tongue. The kid hands him a small pastry bag with a blueberry muffin inside and lets him know his coffee will be ready shortly.</p><p>He gets roughly a minute and a half of social media scrolling in before someone's calling his name</p><p>“Macchiato for David!” A girl calls over the scream of the frother, and he breathes in triumph at the thought of caffeine finally entering his system.</p><p>He weaves through the small crowd of people to reach the counter, skirting around some lady whose kid is gripping at her leg as he grabs his drink. David takes one sip, one step away from the counter before turning back to grab another sweetener from the caddies, only to realize they’re empty.</p><p>“Do you have any more sugar packets?” He asks one of the baristas, trying his hardest not to sound impatient. But honestly, it’s Monday and a moving truck beat his alarm this morning and there's still just <em>one </em>piece of hair that’s not staying in place...</p><p>They nod and signal to the back room before ducking away to grab some, leaving David to lean there and wait, running over the work day that’s ahead of him in his mind.</p><p>There’s a buyer coming in at noon; Mr. Morgan, some pretentious snob who wants to buy his second wife an anniversary present, because contemporary art pieces are the way to go. He’s better off just buying her another round of Botox or lip injections. By the looks of it from the photos guy had shown David, she's no stranger to the needle. </p><p>After that he has to finalize a negotiation with an elite artist they’re trying to get on board. He can amp-up the charm and maybe suggest an informal dinner meeting with them and his team. It worked all the time when David used to run his gallery down in Soho; the promise of drinks and good food, casual conversation surrounding not the negotiation but common interests like traveling or the woes of dating or how galaxy leggings were a detriment to the fashion industry from 2011-2013.</p><p>David could always read a piece easily enough to know what the artist was saying, but he was never opposed to a quick Google search. Sometimes it’s necessary; the last thing he needed was to put his foot in his mouth and have his reputation shattered. </p><p>When he first moved, Alexis half-jokingly suggested he look for a retail job since he had experience, but there was no way David was going to be caught dead dealing with Manhattan’s general public in <em>retail. </em>It was bad enough that he had to deal with a stranger, skankier beast known as the Blouse Barn back in Elmdale. (“It doesn’t have to be a clothing store, David.” “I’m sorry, am I supposed to work in a Dick's Sporting Goods or Restoration Hardware? That is absolutely not happening either.”)</p><p>In a way, David struck gold with the gallery he’s at today; he’d submitted his resume on a whim and they lapped it right up. Within a week of settling into his apartment he had an interview, and three days after that David started working.</p><p>It’s grueling in some ways, dealing with people who wouldn't know the difference between Richter and Rothko if they were both labeled plainly for them. But David’s trying to ease his foot off the gas when it comes to the whole rolling his eyes thing.</p><p>He’s not in Schitt’s Creek anymore. People bite back.</p><p>“Excuse me?” A woman’s voice perks up to his left. She points to her iced coffee with a slight grimace. “I think you gave me whole milk instead of almond.”</p><p>The girl behind the counter takes the cup from her. “I’ll remake it for you. What was it?”</p><p>“Vanilla latte with almond milk and an extra shot. Thank you.”</p><p>She sighs, brushing a long strand of hair away from her face as she turns. David’s fiddling with his rings, but in his periphery he can see her looking at him. Maybe if he ignores her long enough she'll stop.</p><p>“David?”</p><p>
  <em>Dammit.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please don’t be an ex, please don’t be an ex…</em>
</p><p>“O-oh,” he breathes, shocked to see who it is standing next to him. “Rachel?”</p><p>Her lips twitch into a surprised, open-mouthed smile. “Hi. Um, hi.”</p><p>“Hi,” David repeats like a broken record. He’s not sure whether or not this should feel weird. He’s never even had a conversation with her, he ran away before that could even become a thought and/or possibility, yet here they are.</p><p>Small fucking world.</p><p>“I—How are you?” She asks, and it’s genuine, not just out of courtesy.</p><p>David’s  shoulders fall infinitesimally away from his ears. “I’m alright,” he admits, “how are you?”</p><p>“I’m good. You know, just grabbing coffee before work.” She gives him a shrug. “Like everyone else in this city.”</p><p>“Yeah, same.”</p><p>“Hey, here you go, man.”</p><p>David’s partially grateful for being pulled out of what was gearing up to be a very uncomfortable conversation by a guy handing him a handful of sugar packets.</p><p>“I have to run to work,” he says to Rachel with a pinched smile. “But it was nice running into you.”</p><p>“You, too, David.” </p><p>She beams at him, and it’s not in condescending nor does it get under his skin. She’s just smiling like David’s an old friend and not the ex of a man who she was with for nearly half her life. Who she was once engaged to. Who she loved.</p><p>Who she was loved by. </p><p>
  <em>Fucking Mondays...</em>
</p><p>Still, he waves politely, sliding his glasses back into place and heads out. The ride to Chelsea takes nearly forty minutes, and David’s punching in with just a few minutes to spare.</p><p>Right. He has to go over a few things with Nadia before Mr. Morgan gets here. <em>Ugh. </em>David sips his coffee, it’s going to be a long afternoon.</p><p>**</p><p>
  <em>Four Months Ago (Dec)</em>
</p><p>The only reason David hasn’t deleted his Instagram account is so he can see what’s going on with the store. But he rarely checks it. Like, maybe once a week.</p><p>Okay, maybe twice.</p><p>Also he needs to make sure Alexis and Stevie don’t do anything stupid, but that’s his business not theirs.</p><p>He’s overly careful not to double tap any pictures or the outlined heart in the bottom left corner, and he absolutely refuses to check the stories. They’re not usually updated, anyway. The last thing David needs is someone from back h—<em>from Schitt’s Creek </em>needling him about how he’s doing because they saw his name pop up along with the likes.</p><p>Today’s post is of a trio of candles, an open bottle of wine beside a poured glass, and a small platter of cheese slices, crackers, and preserves. It’s artfully framed, David has to admit, and very unlike the other posts on the grid. And the caption is...okay, <em>what? </em></p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>@roseapothecary.sc: Make sure you treat yourself on this beautiful Saturday! </strong>
  </em>
  <strong>😉  <em>Our picnic bundles are selling out fast! </em></strong>
</p><p>It’s succeeded by a little black heart, a rose, and several hashtags that David would not approve of like <em>#selfcare,</em> <em>#charCUTErie </em>and <em>#winenot?</em></p><p>“The fuck…” David scrolls back on the page and checks the caption on a post from three days prior. It has the same amount of tacky pretension as the first one; a photo of a rose hips face mask and a bottle of body milk balanced in a wicker basket stuffed with tissue paper. At least the self care tag is slightly more appropriate this time around. But still.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>@roseapothecary_sc: Can’t make time for a spa trip? We’ve got you covered! </strong>
  </em>
  <strong>✨ <em>Pick up a Rose-y Cheeks </em>🌹<em> face mask and our super popular body milk for a one-of-a-kind #selfcare sesh! #GLOWforit #dontdrinkthebodymilk #cucumberslicesoptional </em>💅 🖤</strong>
</p><p>The emojis are slowly killing him, sure, but it’s the tag at the very end that has David inhaling sharply.</p><p>
  <em>#arosecomms</em>
</p><p>Of courseit’s Alexis. Of <em>course</em>. He dials his sister faster than he ever has in his life, pacing back and forth by the windows.</p><p>“Oh my god, hey! I was just thinking about you!” Alexis’s voice chimes through the phone in a way that rattles his eardrums. “We must be on the same wavelength or something.”</p><p>“Why are you handling the store’s Instagram?” David nearly barks.</p><p>“Um, it’s not just Instagram, David. I’m also handling the store’s Facebook page, so if you could please give me the proper credit that would be great.”</p><p>
  <em>“Excuse me?” </em>
</p><p>“Ugh, you’re so shrill!” She exclaims. </p><p>“I am <em>not </em>shrill!” He counters, lowering his voice. </p><p>“Why do you even care? It’s not like it’s your store anymore!”</p><p>“It’s not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still care about it.”</p><p>“Yeah, the ‘store’,” she replies slowly, and David swears he’s going to fucking scream.</p><p>He growls. “Just answer me!”</p><p>Alexis lets out a light little sigh, and David can practically see her twisting her earrings around. “Okay, so...Patrick asked for some social media advice and I offered my services. I’m handling the accounts now.”</p><p>“What—”</p><p><em>“And</em> I didn’t want to tell you,” she interrupts, “because I didn’t want you to get all David-y on me.”</p><p>He screws up his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“I don’t know, you get, like, super controlling and you start flapping your hands around,” Alexis explains, probably doing the motion herself. “You never want to hear anyone out on their ideas. You need everything to look perfect.”</p><p>“Well I’m so sorry if I know what looks pleasing to the eye,” he retorts, not sorry at all. “But it’s whatever, do what you want. It’s his store, not mine.”</p><p>There’s a tightness to the way Alexis says his name but he ignores it, pressing into the cool glass of his window and pushing it up to let a breeze in. The air instantly soothes him.</p><p>“Is that really why you called?” She asks in the tiniest voice, and David braces his hand on the latch of the window.</p><p>“Yeah. Yep, that’s it,” he breathes. “Sorry for bothering you.”</p><p>“Mm-hm, it’s fine. So, hey. How’s working at a gallery again?”</p><p>“Eerily similar but certainly less stressful,” David admits, grateful to pivot to a new conversation. “And I haven’t stumbled upon any photography by a man with a horrible name, which is a blessing in and of itself.”</p><p>“Good news for you there, actually,” she chimes. “I looked Sebastien up as soon as I heard what gallery hired you just to see if he had, like, any connections to the place and it turns out he moved to London. Apparently New York isn’t, like, ‘rugged enough’ for him anymore.”</p><p>David audibly breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank fuck for that. London can have him. Maybe he’ll piss off a royal guard or something and have his possessions thrown in the Thames.”</p><p>“Oh my god, <em>imagine?”</em></p><p>Their conversation turns from there; Alexis doesn’t bring up Patrick, and neither does David.</p><p>In fact, no one ever does. In his old life, David probably would have sulked for a little while before deleting his contact, but it still feels too raw, like pushing on a bruise. It just sits idle in his phone.</p><p>That must be how it is when someone is caring and genuine and nice enough to like <em>David </em>and not what he can offer; blow, sex, picking up the tab. </p><p>Eventually the conversation turns one-sided as Alexis tells David about Singles Week that was supposed to be Singles Day and how their mother twisted all the words around and is now helping out. David’s proud of his sister, he really is, but as much as he misses her he just wants to curl up and sleep for the rest of the afternoon.</p><p>Especially when she says, “So...I guess it’s safe to assume you’re not coming back for the holidays?”</p><p>He says no, they leave it at that.</p><p>When Alexis hangs up with promises of visiting soon, David tosses his phone onto his desk and sighs. He could use a stiff drink. He’s sure someone would let him into one of those VIP lounges, he just needs to scour his contact list.</p><p>He doesn’t bother. The thought of falling back into old habits scares him too much, anyway. It’s a strange thought, David Rose circa late aughts/early tens with a blurred vision of what he truly wanted in his life, likely with a faint white dusting under his nose. Not that the coke lasted long, but still.</p><p>Every so often when David thinks back on it or pulls up an old picture from his camera roll, he’s reminded of how <em>small </em>he was. Terribly thin, unhealthy, but he was surviving. Granted not on much, but he was in the public eye no matter where he went. He was always expected to be...<em>something.</em></p><p>There’s one picture David remembers almost too well; he doesn't know where it was taken or who by, but his skin was sallow, his eyes ringed with purplish circles and sunken despite his wide, drunk smile. That was the photo that made him snap — along with Alexis’s uncharacteristic moment of worry where she dragged his ass into their wing of their house when they were both home for some party. She commented on how his clothing didn’t hug him like it used to, and the genuine fear in her eyes was enough for David to slowly climb out of the hole he dug himself into.</p><p>With the help of several licensed therapists, but that’s neither here nor there.</p><p>So, no. No stiff drinks tonight. No bottle service, no falling back into old patterns surrounded by people he thought were his friends.</p><p>He texts Stevie, <em><strong>Smoke? </strong></em>She’s calling him within thirty seconds.</p><p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em></em>
  </strong>
  <em>Present Day</em>
</p><p>David pinches the bridge of his nose, fingers pressing into the corners of his eyes. They’re dry as a bone at this point, but he couldn’t sit in his apartment and read all day. He’s restless and it’s been a long week, so instead of sitting in the park or browsing an antique shop for a bar cart like he’s been itching to do, David opted for hunkering down in the moderately-crowded seating area of Partners.</p><p>Nothing heals like coffee, even if said coffee is almost done and has run just the slightest bit cold.</p><p>Maybe he should get another one.</p><p>Unable to focus because of the tension headache building behind his eyes, David sets the book down on the sticky table top and leans back into the cushioned bench, turning his head to stare at the slanted mirror above the order counter. He can see himself in it, slightly warped amongst the artful speckles and other patrons, their bags littering the concrete floors.</p><p>David lets out a little sigh, shuffling in his seat to turn back to his book when a small frame comes into view.</p><p>“Hi, David.”</p><p>Rachel is standing in front of him, iced coffee pressed to her chest as she gives him a shy smile.</p><p>“Rachel. Hi.” He sits up straighter. “Oh. Do you need this table? I could move—“</p><p>“No,” she puts a hand out to stop him. “I just wanted to say hello. It’s funny, I’ve run into you twice this week.”</p><p>David’s lips tug at one corner. “Guess so,” he murmurs, and she’s nodding at him. “I live nearby.”</p><p>“Can I sit?” She gestures to the chair across from him, and David puts out an inviting hand. “Thanks.”</p><p>He starts fidgeting with his rings. “What are you doing in New York?” He asks timidly. Honestly, he's feeling a little bit awkward.</p><p>“I was offered a job at a publishing house in the city,” Rachel replies cheerfully. “I do marketing for them.”</p><p>“That’s fun,” David says, genuinely interested. “I didn’t know that you did that.”</p><p>“Yeah well…” She bobs her head from side to side, suddenly looking a little sad. “I guess you wouldn’t.”</p><p>He pinches his lips off to the side.</p><p>“That’s not something you would have talked about with, um…” Rachel cuts herself off with a shake of her head and a puff of breath. She closes her eyes tightly. “Okay. Sorry, that probably wasn’t appropriate to bring up.”</p><p>David doesn’t say anything, he just keeps playing with his rings; he takes one off and sets it on his middle finger. “I moved here after everything happened,” he begins after a long stretch of silence. “I couldn’t stay there. All of it reminded me of…him.”</p><p>There’s the faintest feeling of tears pricking at the back of his eyes and it trails into his nose enough to make him want to sneeze. David clears his throat. “Do you hate me?”</p><p>Rachel’s dark eyes grow wide with concern. “What?”</p><p>“Do you hate me?” He repeats. “I mean, I’m the reason you two didn’t get back together when you showed up and why he never answered your texts. Like, you were obviously expecting some reunion, so you have to hate me. Right...?”</p><p>It’s not like he’s expecting Rachel to agree with him — although it would put his mind at ease in some way. </p><p>But she doesn’t. In an act of kindness he’s completely unused to from <em>anyone</em>, she brings her hands over David’s and gives them a gentle squeeze.</p><p>“I have no reason to hate you,” she responds simply, truthfully, and that’s it. “And I think you know just as well as I do that I have no resentment toward you.”</p><p>“But I don’t, though. He kept me a secret. He kept <em>you </em>a secret. I mean, he had his reasons, but, um…”</p><p>He just barely suppresses a truly gross noise and slips one hand away to pinch his brow. <em>God. </em></p><p>“I know.” Rachel’s hands don’t leave the one still on the table, and as much as David wants to pull away and fully cover his face, he doesn’t. “And I’m so sorry for how that all came out. I wish Patrick had answered my texts and at least talked to me about everything beforehand, but he was scared. I know that now. And I wish more than anything that he had told you instead of trying to keep his past behind him.” She makes a shoving motion with one of her hands.</p><p>“Is that what he told you?” David asks in a wavering tone, not sure he wants to hear the answer. He’s spent a long time now trying to get Patrick out of his head, but it’s nearly impossible.</p><p>“It is. When we talked that night Patrick said he didn’t want to scare you away with how long we were together.” Rachel moves her hands into her lap. “We talked through everything, why he left and—“</p><p>“Please, don’t.” David waves a hand. “I…that’s between the two of you. It’s private, and I don’t have to know any of that.”</p><p>“Okay,” Rachel breathes out, and then, “Do you hate <em>me?”</em></p><p>“Maybe if this was before my family was dropped into that town, yeah,” he admits with a slight wince. “Because I was a brat.” David chuckles and so does Rachel and the knot in his chest loosens just the slightest bit for the first time in six months. “But, no. You didn’t do anything. Really, we could blame my sister for it, she’s the one who dragged you along to the barbecue in the first place.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I made the drive,” she notes, which is true. “Enough of that, this is probably too intense to talk about over coffee and I essentially invited myself to sit with you. I’m sure you weren’t planning on talking about any of this today, anyway.”</p><p>“The goal was never. I’m <em>very</em> good at holding things in.” David cocks his head to the side, one eye squeezed shut. “Depending.”</p><p>Rachel hums, somewhere close to sarcasm and it’s impossible for David to hold back a grin when she does it.</p><p>“How about we, at least for now, we don’t talk about him,” she suggests, tilting her head to the side, and David has never been more relieved to hear those words. “It’s still…”</p><p>“Hard,” he finishes. It really, really is.</p><p>“Yeah.” Rachel nods, because she gets it, of course she does. “Hard.” </p><p>She pulls the straw of her coffee cup up and down once, flinching at the cutting squeak it makes against the plastic lid. Hesitantly, she speaks again: “Listen...I’m sure you weren't exactly expecting to run into me today. I’m also assuming that it’s a little strange sitting across from me right now given our…histories, or whatever.”</p><p><em>A little bit, </em>David wants to say, but he reigns it in.</p><p>“But I’m going to be completely honest with you,” Rachel continues. “I just moved here, I live, like, six blocks away and I know <em>nothing </em>about this city. I also don’t really know anyone besides the people I work with.”</p><p>She then pulls out her phone and unlocks it, sliding it across to David with an open contact page on the screen.</p><p>Rachel shrugs. “Just in case.”</p><p>Red flags should be going up. Alarms should be sounding. Someone should be jumping up and down behind Rachel, waving their hands as if to say, <em>Abort, abort, abort!</em> Historically speaking exes of exes are to be avoided at all costs. David has seen a few catfights, not to mention he’s nearly been in one himself.</p><p>But there’s something comforting in her mannerisms, something <em>kind </em>and genuine about Rachel that David can’t deny. She’s <em>nice. </em>Maybe he shouldn’t hole himself up to loneliness in such a big city. Maybe he should start opening up, befriend new people.</p><p>Even if it’s with somebody who he shares an interesting connection with.</p><p>So he takes Rachel’s phone, adds his number and texts himself with her name.</p><p>There are no true promises of doing anything together when they leave, and David takes the exchange as having their numbers; if one of them needs a favor or whatever. </p><p>Like she said: “Just in case.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! See you for another update on Friday! In the meantime, you can find me href="maxbegone.tumblr.com"&gt;@maxbegone on tumblr!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Friday!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Eight Months Ago, August</em>
</p><p>“You know, my bedroom in my place in New York was, like, <em>double </em>the size of this room. Might have been triple, actually. And there was a bathroom attached to it fully equipped with a waterfall shower and a jacuzzi bathtub.”</p><p>Patrick gives David such a look of amused curiosity it nearly pains him. “Well, I’m sorry that Ray’s guest bedroom isn’t one of a Manhattan penthouse.”</p><p>David squints. “You think you’re funny.”</p><p>“Yes I do, David, thank you for recognizing that.”</p><p>“Mm-hm.”</p><p>Tonight was…a lot. </p><p>Well, ‘a lot’ isn’t right, but it was certainly something unexpected. When Patrick suggested an open mic night to bring more customers into the store, David’s initial instinct was to hide somewhere. Like a bunker. Or maybe in Bob’s motor oil-slicked garage. But Patrick being Patrick, assured David that he would be fine.</p><p><em>Fine</em> was a bit of an overstatement.</p><p>Because after Patrick hopped off the little makeshift stage in the back of their store and set his guitar back onto its stand, David nearly bowled over. Needless to say he was speechless for a few minutes there while Twyla’s goddamn <em>improv</em> troupe did whatever “Yes, and,” technique in the background. He’ll be blocking <em>that </em>from memory, thank you.</p><p>Patrick peeled David’s hands away from his face, asked him nervously what he thought and all David could do was kiss him.</p><p>He felt seen and…<em>loved. </em>It was unparalleled to anything he had ever felt before. And he’s seen Mariah Carey live in concert.</p><p>But that? Patrick did that for him and no one else.</p><p>Granted everyone was there to see it. Even his mother, who was dabbing her eyes with a tissue as she <em>cried, oh god. </em></p><p>Patrick sets his guitar case down by his dresser before walking over to David, taking him by the hips and backing him up until the backs of his knees knock against the edge of the bed.</p><p>“Are you going to tell me any of your thoughts from tonight?” He asks, hands linking at the small of David’s back, and David tucks his lips together.</p><p>“It was very…nice.”</p><p>Patrick blinks. <em>“Nice?” </em>He grins wider. “That’s it?”</p><p>“What do you want me to say?” David exclaims with a punch of laughter. “That I was blown away? That I was moved to tears?”</p><p>“David, you <em>were</em> moved to tears.” Smug. Patrick’s being smug.</p><p>“Maybe I was. Or,” he raises a finger, “what about the fact that you took one of my favorite songs and completely rearranged it into something…something <em>gorgeous </em>so that regular people would appreciate the lyrics that otherwise get lost in an empowering score?”</p><p>“You once gave me a fifteen minute lecture on how under appreciated that song is and how no one pays attention to how powerful it is,” Patrick says by way of agreement.</p><p>“That is correct.”</p><p>“I know how much it means to you. That’s why I chose it.”</p><p>David will not cry again. He will <em>not.</em></p><p>“I stayed up late one night poring over the lyrics and realized that each one said exactly how I felt about you.” Patrick casts his eyes away for a split second. “Still does.”</p><p>“We’ll have to thank the mighty Tina Turner,” he sniffs, voice gruff.</p><p>Patrick nods. “We will,” he whispers and kisses David sweetly.</p><p>They work about their usual routine from there, Patrick taking the bathroom first before David inevitably meets him in there. He’s not letting his boyfriend go far from him tonight.</p><p>“Tell me about your place in New York, David,” Patrick whispers later on once the bedside table lamp is leaking warm, amber light into the room.</p><p>“What?” He furrows his brows. “Why?”</p><p>Patrick breathes softly, pointing up. “I’d like to envision something other than Ray’s floral wallpaper.”</p><p>“And you want to do that by having me reminisce?”</p><p>“Yeah, why not?” He turns his head on the pillow to look at David. “Unless you’d rather not relive that part of your life.”</p><p>“It’s fine.” David squeezes his eyes shut, trying to pull together his old bedroom. “The walls were white,” he starts, and an amused breath rumbles out from his chest. “But not like a white-white. Like a tasteful off-white with just the <em>faintest </em>grey tinge to it. I had a platform bed, too, with a cushioned bench all the way around and a wooden headboard; a gorgeous mahogany.”</p><p>“What size?” Patrick asks, eyes glowing in the soft light. “A California king?”</p><p>“A regular king,” David retorts. “Much more modest.”</p><p>“I have to admit I’m surprised. For someone who loves sleep so much, I would have thought you’d get the biggest mattress on the market.”</p><p>“M’kay. I’ll have you know that California kings are actually longer than they are wide. So a king-sized mattress is really the best way to go.”</p><p>“Now that is <em>fascinating </em>information.” The look David gives him has Patrick biting his lip. “I’m sorry, David, please continue.”</p><p>“Uh…My bedding was not entirely dissimilar to what I have at the motel. I mean it was much nicer; white with a heather grey down comforter, a much richer shade of grey for the throw and decorative pillows. I had these, like, industrial lamps bolted into the wall on both sides of the bed. Matte black with gold accents. They were adjustable.”</p><p>David looks to his right and beside him, Patrick is watching him intently. He laces their fingers together on top of the comforter.</p><p>“What else did you have there?” Patrick asks quietly, bending David’s arm up so he can trace along the delicate skin of his inner forearm.</p><p>He does that sometimes; thumbs across the veins in David’s wrist like they’re roadways on a map. It’s soothing the way Patrick’s lightly-calloused fingertips brush against him in a way that feels so much more intimate than it probably is.</p><p>He keeps going. “A remote-controlled fireplace, a leather recliner by the windows that had sheer black curtains as well as full blackouts, a couple of bookshelves. A lot of blankets.”</p><p>“I’m not hearing anything about a closet,” Patrick jokes.</p><p>“Oh, that was there, too. I had a huge walk-in that was professionally organized with full-length mirrors.”</p><p>“Professionally organized…” Patrick shakes his head in amusement as David thwacks his chest lightly.</p><p>“Yes, that’s an actual thing,” he confirms, biting back a smirk.</p><p>“And what about artwork?” Patrick urges David to continue with a nudge of his knee beneath the sheets. “I would have figured you’d have a few limited edition pieces, or whatever.” </p><p>“I definitely did,” David assures him. “There was a beautiful piece hanging above my bed on a series of three canvases. They kind of…okay, you know those broken geodes that lady sells in that shop in Elm Glen? The one with the crystals and macrame pieces and taxidermy butterflies for some godforsaken reason?” David shudders. He still has nightmares.</p><p>Who the hell would want to hang a dead insect in their home?</p><p>Patrick hums in acknowledgement, fingers still moving idly.</p><p>“So like that, but painted and...smokier, almost? Like, they cascaded across each canvas. Navy and several shades of grey and these precise lines of metallic gold like kintsugi.”</p><p>The fingers on his wrist stop “I don’t know what that is.”</p><p>“It’s a Japanese method of repairing broken pottery,” David explains, moving so his palm meets Patrick’s again. “They paint the cracks with gold lacquer and instead of treating it like a broken item, it’s breakage is part of its history. Makes it individual.”</p><p>“Sounds symbolic,” comes Patrick’s gentle tone in his ear, and he’s looking back at David like he’s searching for what his past was like in the lines of his face.</p><p> He breathes out slowly. “I love Japan,” he replies, batting away any emotions.</p><p>All Patrick says is, “I know you do,” and leaves it at that.</p><p>David had a few other kintsugi-inspired pieces when he lived in New York; a handmade oblong bowl that sat on his coffee table, a pair of bookends, even a mug that he bought at a hole-in-the-wall crafts fair in Soho. The ceramist said she made the mugs then purposely broke them each with a little hammer before putting them back together with gold pigment. </p><p>If he’d had some insight before his family lost everything, maybe he would have remembered to take at least the mug with him from his apartment.</p><p>“That’s my room,” David concludes, laying flat on his back. His eyes move from a spot in the ceiling to the floral wallpaper mounted on the wall behind them, lines in his forehead deepening as he tries to get a decent look. “And this is yours…”</p><p>“This is mine.” Patrick points up to the wall. “And that is definitely Ray’s aesthetic.”</p><p>“Yeah, I might need to talk to him about that. What was your room like back home?”</p><p>Patrick hesitates for a moment like he’s gathering his thoughts. And then, in just six words: “There was a lot of blue.”</p><p>David wiggles closer. “Of course! I should have known!”</p><p>“And baseball and hockey trophies,” he adds, shoving David’s shoulder. “My parents have probably changed my room into an office or a second guest room by now, but I’m sure my trophies are still on display somewhere.”</p><p>“Of course they are.”</p><p>He pulls the comforter tighter around them, hiking it up to their shoulders as they lay facing each other. Ray’s choice in decor might rival the set of <em>Golden Girls </em>or any condo in Florida<em>, </em>but that doesn’t mean they’re not comfortable; this mattress might be the softest thing David’s ever slept on.</p><p>“What would you do,” he starts slowly after a moment, rolling closer to Patrick who’s on his side, “if you had me in a bed that wasn’t surrounded by wallpaper that belongs in a tea shop?”</p><p>“But David, I like tea shops,” Patrick states, and his eyes are wide and earnest.</p><p>He narrows his gaze. “Really? I’m trying to initiate something here.”</p><p>“Oh, in that case…”</p><p>Patrick swings a leg over David’s hip, trapping him against the mattress before leaning down enough so their noses brush together.</p><p>“I would kiss you here.” His lips press against the hinge of David’s jaw. “And here.” His neck. “And here.” His cheek. “And right here.” The corner of his mouth, the tease. Patrick’s hands slide down David’s sides until he reaches the hem of his sleep shirt. “And then I would take this off, and then your pants,” he continues softly, his tone giving way to a light chuckle.</p><p>David bites back his own laughter as Patrick’s lips finally, <em>finally </em>come crashing down to meet his. He leans up enough to let his shirt be tugged over his head and set somewhere on the foot of the bed, chasing Patrick’s mouth when they part even just for a second.</p><p>For a moment, just a quick split-second thing, David lets himself imagine the two of them together months from now, a year from now, in a bed with sheets and a comforter that he picked out, and then in his bed in New York, tumbling onto a king-sized mattress as opposed to the full they’re in now, the sounds of the city echoing outside the windows.</p><p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Present Day</em>
</p><p>David is going to kill Nadia. When she texted him this morning to let him know she was going to be out sick, she neglected to mention the mountain of paperwork he would have to sift through for the contract they needed to renew with one of their more popular artists. And when he didn’t find it in said mountain on her desk, he found it in the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet along with eight out-of-date indie zines, two of which were full of erotica.</p><p>Why it was there, he has no fucking idea, but at least David can send it over to the artist and get the rest of his shit done for the day.</p><p>After Mr. Morgan’s purchase two weeks ago, they’ve been pulling in more prospective buyers since he showed off his trophy wife and the weird piece he bought her. So now David has to send out a bunch of introductory emails because the director trusts him with that sort of thing, for some godforsaken reason.</p><p>Apparently David has a sort of “magic touch” when it comes to the clientele, which is fair considering his years of experience running his own fair share of galleries prior to having the proverbial carpet pulled out from under his family. Although back then he strolled in at whatever time he liked and his assistant handled the emailing. He only talked to potential buyers in person and/or by request.</p><p>This was a slightly different game.</p><p>He zips up his bag just after four and waves to the group huddled around the front desk as he makes his way out to the Manhattan side street, making a left in the direction of the subway just as his phone pings in his hand. He blinks at the name once or twice, not really expecting to see it.</p><p>
  <strong>Rachel:<em> Hey, David! Are you free for a drink? I’m down in Chelsea. It’s been a long day and I’m desperate.</em></strong>
</p><p>His initial instinct is to say no. Rachel’s friendly, they’ve texted back and forth over the last few weeks, have understandably run into each other while getting coffee. But they’ve never hung out. And even though she told him she didn’t really know anyone in the city, she seems like the kind of person to befriend almost anybody.</p><p>She’s extremely likable, which is probably a contributing factor as to why David, who’s normally put off by exes, really can't come to be deterred by her.</p><p>But a drink sounds nice. He <em>did </em>have plans with a bottle of wine and a few episodes of Drag Race, but…company doesn’t sound terrible.</p><p>A cocktail made by someone other than himself sounds even better.</p><p><strong>David: <em>i actually work in chelsea. do you know where the tippler is?</em></strong> </p><p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p><p>The Tippler is not as packed as David is expecting on a Wednesday night in New York. But it’s springtime, and rooftop bars are open once again, so it’s understandable that not many people would want to be in the depths of Chelsea Market when it’s just <em>so </em>nice out.</p><p>He’s been a few times before, and it’s almost nostalgic walking up to the wood-lined bar instead of a table in the back of the dimly-lit Waverly. This place is much more communal, casual.</p><p>Rachel’s perched on a stool almost dead-center in the middle of the bar, and she looks up from her phone just in time to see David walk over.</p><p>“Hi!” She stands up to hug him and — <em>oh. </em>That’s not what he was expecting. He welcomes it, though.</p><p>David’s not a hugger by any means, but he’s loosened up to the idea of it. Even if his arms haven’t quite gotten the memo.</p><p>“First round’s on me.” Rachel settles back into her seat. “What are you getting?”</p><p>“I would kill for a good G&amp;T,” David replies haughtily, scanning over the menu in front of him. “Also, I’m starving, so I’ll pay for the food even if you don’t want anything.” He then points in the direction he came from. “Although there is a whole market behind us, so we don’t have to get anything here…”</p><p>“Hey, I’m game,” Rachel says with a smile. “We can get doughnuts for all I care, I just need to forget about today.”</p><p>David’s mouth drops open, shaking his shoulders a little. “Don’t tempt me with a good time. The Dougnuttery is practically steps away.”</p><p>“Alright, alright.” Rachel orders two gin and tonics, and when they’re set down in front of them, she takes a long sip of hers.</p><p>“Wow.” David nods slowly. “Rough day, huh?”</p><p>“Don’t even get me started,” she grumbles, setting her glass back onto the bar napkin. “Our department head up and quit on us today out of nowhere, so now we’re scrambling to meet this deadline, and then I was late to a meeting because they changed conference rooms and I never saw the memo. And,” she tugs at her blue and white pinstripe blouse, “I had to buy this during my lunch break today because I spilled coffee all over my other one, which is currently shoved in my bag because I just don’t give a shit at this point.” She gives her purse a kick where it sits on the hook for good measure.</p><p>David’s eyebrows shoot up. “In comparison, my day was just stupidly annoying.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Rachel asks, straw between her lips. “What happened?”</p><p>“Sick coworker leaving me to dig through her stuff and handle a negotiation with an artist.” David shrugs. “The usual.”</p><p>“Eh, it could be worse,” she replies, and she’s right. It definitely could be. “So I’ve never actually been here, are we getting food now or back in the market—<em>oof.”</em></p><p>She’s cut off when someone bumps into her from behind, and David would be remiss to say that he wasn’t impressed by the flat look she gives him. Rachel looks like she might be two inconveniences away from taking someone down.</p><p>“Oh, my bad— Oh my god, is that David Rose?”</p><p>
  <em>No, no, no. Not now.</em>
</p><p>A young woman shuffles around Rachel with her mouth in a wide, open smile.</p><p>“It <em>is!” </em>She exclaims in a whiny voice. “I didn’t know you were in town! You should have rang!”</p><p>David clamps his lips into a thin line. “Mm, totally should have. Jada, this is Rachel—“</p><p>“Oh my god, is this your girlfriend?” Jada spins around. “She’s cute, babe. I didn’t know you had a thing for redheads.”</p><p>“We’re friends actually,” Rachel replies in a tone that could put even the most arrogant people in their place; it’s stern but still strangely friendly, undercutting. It’s a tone Jocelyn Schitt <em>wishes</em> she could have. “We both had shitty days at work and needed a drink to destress.”</p><p>“Oh my god, tell me about it. Rachel,” Jada leans into her, and Rachel looks at David with raised brows. “Do <em>not </em>let this guy pay the tab. He used to do it all the time back in the day, like, no questions asked. It was so cute, every time we’d go out it was always, ‘David’s buying, David’s buying!’” She lets out an irritating laugh and not for the first time David wonders how he ever crossed paths with someone like her.</p><p>With a lot of people like her, really. Sometimes morose, usually inconsiderate, definitely not very smart.</p><p>“Seriously though,” Jada says, twisting a dark strand of hair around her finger, “it was always so nice of you to do that. You saved my ass a bunch of times; I had so much debt, it’s not even funny. Like, I still do.”</p><p>David pushes his tongue against his cheek. “Was never really given an option there,” he murmurs in disdain.</p><p>Jada shifts from her position on Rachel’s shoulder, who is actively giving David <em>help me </em>looks, and reaches across the bar to take a drink from the bartender. “It sucks that you disappeared for a while,” she continues without acknowledging him. “I got so busy with the modeling agency that you didn’t even cross my mind until just now. Like, no one did, you’re not special, but—“</p><p>“Oh…dammit!” Rachel is suddenly scrambling for her things and digging out her wallet as she looks at her watch. “David, we’re gonna be late. Excuse me?” She waves to the bartender. “I’m sorry, we have to close out,” she says, passing over her card before turning back to David. “We have to run if we want to make our reservation.”</p><p>The bartender comes back with a receipt and a pen, and David watches in awe as Rachel scribbles her signature at the bottom before tossing a ten dollar bill onto the bar and reaching for his hand.</p><p>“Jada,” she says, “it was…interesting meeting you, but we’ve gotta go.”</p><p>David’s beyond thrilled for the excuse. He’s on his feet, barely getting out a half-hearted goodbye as they leave her in the dust, the tiny redhead a force pulling on his arm as they make for the nearest exit onto West 15th.</p><p>“Um, that was incredible,” David says, breathless as they walk out into the cool early evening. “You saved me from a really grueling conversation one-sided with one of the most shallow people Manhattan has ever introduced me to.”</p><p>“I didn’t see you making an effort to get out of it,” she jokes, readjusting her bag on her shoulder. “Sorry for cutting your drink short.”</p><p>“I can get a gin and tonic anywhere.” He waves a hand. “Like literally anywhere. Especially with food. Speaking of.” He spins around, glancing down the street where part of the Highline crosses between a gap in the buildings. “Where are we going?”</p><p>Rachel purses her lips in thought, squinting around at passersby. “Okay. I think I have an idea.”</p><p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p><p>David finds himself reclining against the back of a wide rolling wooden lounge chair forty minutes later. His eyes are closed as he breathes in with the breeze, content with the smorgasbord of food between himself and Rachel.</p><p>“Hey.” He cracks an eye open and turns his head where Rachel is shaking a cardboard box at him filled with at least a dozen miniature doughnuts with varying toppings. “Want one?”</p><p>“Um, <em>yes.” </em>He plucks a glazed one with sprinkles from the first row and pops it in his mouth. It takes everything to not moan inhumanely as the fried dough and sugar hits his tongue.</p><p>“Is there a proper way to eat these?” Rachel muses, observing a vibrant-pink doughnut where it’s pinched between her fingers.</p><p>“One bite.”</p><p>“Yeah?” David nods. “Okay.”</p><p>He watches her intently for a reaction. Sure, they’re not the city’s best doughnuts, but they’re bite-sized which means you can have several different kinds, and fried food is fried food. That’s a hard thing to mess up unless you burn the oil.</p><p>“Damn, that’s good,” Rachel says through a bite, and David sits tall in triumph.</p><p>“I don’t lie about food,” he states, swiping another from the box between them.</p><p>Across from them, a couple sits pressed together on a bench, and the second one of the men leans in to kiss the other, David averts his gaze up to the darkening sky. He feels chilly, itchy.</p><p><em>Maybe it’s the sweater, </em>he thinks, toying with the strap hanging off the skirt of his pants.</p><p>“I’m sorry for bringing it up, but this has really been bothering me,” Rachel says loud enough to pull David’s attention back. “That girl back there…saying that you didn’t cross her mind, or whatever. That really bugged me. ‘You’re not special,” she adds with a lilt to her voice, then furrows her brow. “That’s…really fucking shitty.”</p><p>David punches out a laugh. “It’s not surprising,” he admits, continuing to twist the strap at his waist. “Didn’t really think about her, either. She was one of the people that would tag along with everyone else even when she wasn’t invited.”</p><p>Rachel snorts. “That’s annoying.”</p><p>“Tell me about it.”</p><p>“Does it bother you? What she said?”</p><p>David shakes his head slowly. “Not as much as it used to.” He finds Rachel’s dark eyes and smirks. “The, um, ‘friends’ I had here didn’t ever bother to see if I was okay after everything went south with my family and we lost our money. I guess once the guy who pays the tab is gone, he’s no longer worthy of being given the time of day.”</p><p>“See, that’s another thing!” Rachel waves a finger at him, her knees hiked up to her chest. “She said you always paid.”</p><p>“Yeah, I don’t actually know when that started happening. But one day I just accepted the fact that everyone’s drinks were always on my card and let it be.”</p><p>Rachel squints at him, her mouth ajar as she says, “David, those people suck.”</p><p>“Oh I know that,” he agrees. “Took a while for me to figure out, and I didn’t actually accept it until I was living in Schitt’s Creek for a year. I realized that Stevie, despite her bluntness, was the closest thing I ever had to a real friend.” He pauses. “She still is.”</p><p>Beside him, Rachel is giving David a sort of sad look, her hands clasped in her lap. “You have me.”</p><p>It’s quiet for a few seconds. The breeze is the loudest thing around them right now, and all David can do is watch the girl beside him.</p><p>For once, for the first time since they ran into each other, David sees her removed from their shared histories. She’s not Patrick’s ex fiancee, she’s not the girl who stumbled upon a secret that neither of them realized they were part of.</p><p>She’s Rachel, someone who’s new to the city David once called home, a stranger to its skyscrapers and subway lines and fast-paced lifestyle. She’s lonely, maybe, or not at all and just looking to befriend someone new.</p><p>That’s…kind of nice. And David didn’t realize how much he needed it.</p><p>“Well thank god,” he responds in lieu of something sentimental. He’s not sure he’s capable of that right now. “But I can be very clingy, and I think Stevie’s going to start charging me the next time I call to complain, so heed this as your warning.”</p><p>Rachel bursts into bright, bubbly laughter as David’s chest blooms with warmth. He feels a little less lonely here.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Hopefully this chapter as a little bit lighter than the last two. Have a lovely weekend!</p><p>In the meantime, you can find me <a href="maxbegone.tumblr.com">@maxbegone</a>on tumblr!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Special thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagface/pseuds/hagface">hagface</a> and <a href="https://theswiftiewholived.tumblr.com">theswiftiewholived</a> for your help with the art in this chapter! I'm not very good at understanding art, but you two were absolute angels! Thank you for answering all my questions!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are hands on his ass, squeezing him right through his jeans, and David would be lying if he said they didn’t feel really, really good.</p>
<p>It would be even better if something wasn’t digging into his fucking back right now, but that’s what he gets for agreeing to make out in a public restroom.</p>
<p>But he’s had a few, and it should just be common knowledge at this point that he doesn’t make the most logical decisions when he’s inebriated. Still, there are hot, wet lips against his jaw and a thigh between his legs which is really all he can focus on right now. Aside from his back and the artful moulding along the wall where paint meets tile.</p>
<p>David hips are being tugged forward as the fasten of his jeans is fumbled with, and as much as he wants to, as much as he would love to have someone on him right fucking now…</p>
<p>He can’t.</p>
<p>He pushes the guy away gently, someone who bought him a drink and immediately flirted his way into David's group. Celebratory after-work drinks at a high-end bar across town was already a bad idea, he knew that — he’s been keeping friendships with these people at an arm’s length — but they just kept coming.</p>
<p>And then someone nudged him in encouragement, which lead to a very fucking hot make out session, and now David is refusing a blowjob or handjob or something.</p>
<p>“‘M sorry,” he murmurs, swaying away from the other man. “I can’t—I’ve gotta go.”</p>
<p>“Whatever.” The guy huffs and leaves, running a hand through his hair as the door slams behind him.</p>
<p>David gives himself one long, sad look in the mirror (vehemently ignoring the glassiness in his eyes) before he leaves, too, making his way through the far side of the bar so his co-workers don’t see him. </p>
<p>He doesn’t need that kind of humiliation tonight. He already feels like crap.</p>
<p>And it takes a hazy split-second decision for David to realize that maybe taking the subway back to his apartment isn’t the best idea. The last thing he needs is to wake up in the abandoned city hall because he wound up on the 6 and never got off instead of taking the C train to get back to Brooklyn.</p>
<p>So he calls a ride share and waits for it, head tipped back against a cool brick wall. He needs to shut his eyes. Just for a second…</p>
<p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Nine Months Ago, July</em>
</p>
<p>This is new.</p>
<p>The mattress is actually comfortable today, and not just a “used to it” comfortable; there’s no spring digging into his side and he doesn’t feel like if he rolls he’ll just fall right off. In fact, when David does roll over, he gets a whiff of something that is decidedly <em>not </em>his lavender pillow spray or the dusty smell that’s forever embedded in the motel carpet.</p>
<p>Cracking his eyes open, David is met with an arguably <em>very </em>angelic face, and honestly? It should be illegal. No one should be allowed to look that good when they’re sleeping. David is borderline envious. Or, at least it would be, if it wasn’t so early.</p>
<p>Speaking of — why the <em>hell </em>is he awake?</p>
<p>But really, he probably looks like a truck hit him instead of the sandman with his hair sticking up in thirty five different goddamn directions and sleep-puffed eyes. Granted he has done his fair share of Kristen Wiig in the beginning of Bridesmaids, sneaking into the bathroom to make himself look more presentable before the other party (or parties, depending) woke up. But usually without the lipgloss — too tacky, both in feel and style.</p>
<p>And David only did it on those rare occasions whoever he was with actually stayed the night. Which, well, that’s another story.</p>
<p>So yes, it’s completely goddamn unfair that Patrick Brewer looks so lovely while he sleeps. It’s also completely unsurprising, and it’s making David feel all sorts of things he probably shouldn’t feel so early on. He’s still kind of walking on eggshells here. </p>
<p>Patrick stifles a yawn and then snorts — he actually <em>snorts — </em>the tiniest amount as he tips onto his back, the imprints of creases from the pillow etched into his stubbled cheek. There’s a gruff hum and David immediately averts his eyes too seem like he wasn’t just admiring (staring), but Patrick catches him, tired honey-brown eyes and all.</p>
<p>“Morning,” he grumbles and okay, that’s <em>sexy. </em></p>
<p>All of last night was sexy, every bit of it, but this just rocketed to the top of the list.</p>
<p>David tucks his smile off to the side, trying to hide it. “Morning.”</p>
<p>“You’re awake before ten,” Patrick comments after peering at the alarm clock on the nightstand. He smirks just the slightest bit.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, let’s chalk it up to the anxiety that Stevie will walk in at any second and see us like this.”</p>
<p>“Like what? We’re not naked, David.”</p>
<p>“I know. We had the foresight to actually put clothes on last night, but that doesn’t mean she won’t gag or kick us out before we can get dressed. Or both.”</p>
<p>Patrick hums. “She gave us her keys.”</p>
<p>It’s David’s turn to hum. “She probably has a spare,” he says before catching Patrick’s eye and correcting himself. “Okay, she <em>definitely </em>does not have a spare key. Stevie Budd lives for not knowing how to be prepared.”</p>
<p>“She’s probably busy with Jake.” And Patrick gives him a truly terrible wink.</p>
<p>It rivals Alexis’s at how awful it is. At least Patrick’s can be classified as a wink; his sister’s are just weird blink-y things that make her look like she’s thinking too hard.</p>
<p>Ugh. Okay. David really needs to <em>not </em>be thinking about his sister right now.</p>
<p>“We probably should get up,” Patrick says slowly after a moment. He’s giving David a look, though, one that says he’d much rather stay in bed for the morning instead of be responsible business owners and open the store.</p>
<p>So David takes initiative, grasping for an extra five minutes under their sanctuary of blankets.</p>
<p>“I am currently awake on the very far side of what is considered reasonable,” he says, finding Patrick’s hip under the blanket, slipping a finger beneath the hem of his shirt to circle the bare skin. “So if you could allow me to have a leisurely morning...”</p>
<p>Patrick visibly hesitates, biting his lip as he whispers, “David,” trailing off the last syllable. Ultimately, he acquiesces.</p>
<p>“Last night…it was good?” David is well aware he’s blushing and he understands they had this conversation last night after coming down from that high but. He still wants to ask.</p>
<p>Patrick’s lips tug into a smile. “Last night was very good,” he replies, rolling back onto his side. Their legs tangle together as he gets an arm over David’s waist, pulling him close. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>David scrunches up his nose. “You have nothing to thank me for. I should be thanking you.”</p>
<p>“Mm, a lot of firsts here, David.” Patrick moves in closer until their noses are bumping together and David’s trying not to outright giggle. And then, because he’s a menace but also absolutely perfect, Patrick adds, “I’m very happy it’s with you.”</p>
<p>“Patrick, it’s before ten,” he admonishes faintly, which only makes his…<em>Patrick, </em>whatever label should be used at this stage of their relationship, it’s <em>new, </em>nuzzle into the crook of his neck. “It’s too early for you to get all sappy.”</p>
<p>“It’s what I do best,” Patrick says. He pulls his head back to look at David properly. “I can’t help it.”</p>
<p>“Mm, still a menace.” David brings an arm around to trap Patrick in a long, lazy kiss. He would say something about morning breath but he really doesn’t want to.</p>
<p>“Hey.” There are fingers suddenly charting a course over his scalp, and it’s nearly enough to coax him back to sleep. “I mean it. You’re making this whole…discovering myself thing so much easier.”</p>
<p>“It’s not always easy,” David admits in a whisper, and his heart clenches in his chest. For both of them, for their younger selves. “But I am happy you trust me.”</p>
<p>Patrick gives him a slow, sleepy blink, moving his hand from where it’s tangled in David’s mess of hair to cup his cheek. “You’re a good person, David.”</p>
<p>“O-<em>kay.”</em></p>
<p>“And you’re respectful.”</p>
<p>“Am I, though?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Patrick actually chuckles as he leans in for another kiss. “Absolutely.”</p>
<p>“I mean, like—“</p>
<p>“Hey. Stop it. You really are.”</p>
<p>David lets out a groan that’s borderline childish into his pillow. “You seriously need to stop doing that.”</p>
<p>“Doing what?” He laughs. “Complimenting you?”</p>
<p>“Yes! And being so nice!”</p>
<p>“I have nothing but nice things to say about you.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh, you say that now,” David tuts. “But eventually you’ll get tired of me showing up late to work and my high standards and, I don’t know, my chest hair—“</p>
<p>“Don’t you dare do anything about your chest hair,” Patrick warns as a hand snakes under David’s shirt and into the swath of dark hair beneath. “It’s sexy.”</p>
<p>“O-okay,” he manages, because that’s the first time someone’s ever said that about something he was once so self conscious about. Still is, really, just a bit.</p>
<p>Sure, David used to wax it every other week until he just stopped out of the blue. He just didn’t think about it from one day to the next and never really bothered to rectify the situation. He just let it grow back in and he likes it more now.</p>
<p>Especially if Patrick is doing that, <em>oh god.</em></p>
<p>His fingers stroke up and down his chest a few more times before he kisses David and slips out from under the covers.</p>
<p>“What? Nothing to start the morning off?” David jokes, pushing himself up on his forearm. “Because now you’ve just opened the floodgates.”</p>
<p>“We have a store to open and I’m almost definite you don’t want to deal with all that clean up,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads to the bathroom, and David gawks at him. “You want to shower, right?”</p>
<p>“Well, I obviously do, I brought all of my products with me so—Wait.” A pause. “Is that a yes?”</p>
<p>“It absolutely is not. C’mon!”</p>
<p>David flops back onto the pillows with a hefty sigh. He’s already itching for more alone time with Patrick, to be able to get a repeat of last night, but he knows they’ll have to be patient. And honestly? He can wait.</p>
<p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Present Day</em>
</p>
<p>“Ste-<em>vie.” </em></p>
<p>David slaps the wall a few times until his hand makes contact with the light switch in his entry way. He blinks under the sudden brightness.</p>
<p>“What? Why are you calling me so late, David? I was just falling asleep.”</p>
<p>“I can’t call you?” David asks, kicking his door closed. He’s not entirely sure why he’s calling Stevie, but it’s the only thing he could think of doing. </p>
<p>“Maybe at a more reasonable hour,” she dismisses. “Why are you calling?”</p>
<p>He huffs, falling onto his sofa. There’s a knot in the wood just peeking out from his area rug that he’s never paid attention to before. It’s oblong in shape and thins out at the top.</p>
<p>
  <em>“David.” </em>
</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Answer me.” </p>
<p>“Fuck—“ He punches the decorative pillow to fluff it before setting it behind his head, but it’s too uncomfortable no matter how many times David messes with it. He throws it across the room with a grunt instead.</p>
<p>“I almos’ hooked up with someone,” he blurts out, letting his head hit the arm of the sofa.</p>
<p>“But you didn’t?” Stevie asks and <em>god </em>why isn’t she here in New York right now so David can really complain to her. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”</p>
<p>“I was so close, Stevie!” He winces at the volume of his own voice. “I was so close to getting a-a something, I don’t know, a blowjob from a stranger and I said no! And he really wanted to!” He sighs. “Why’d I say no, Stevie?”</p>
<p>On her end of the line, Stevie lets out a long, slow breath. “You’re doing that thing where you say my name a lot, so I know you’re drunk.”</p>
<p>David grumbles.</p>
<p>“I think you know why you said no.”</p>
<p>“But I don’t!”</p>
<p>“Holy fuck, <em>David. </em>You’re not—you…You’re still not over Patrick.”</p>
<p>“Yes I am,” he scoffs, sitting upright with enough velocity to make him dizzy. “I don’t think about him.”</p>
<p>“No, you’re just forcing yourself not to think about him. And you’re my best friend, David, but I’m getting so fucking tired of seeing you so miserable.”</p>
<p>“‘M not miserable!” He counters. “I’m in the bes’ city in the world and I’m working! With art! And there are things to do.”</p>
<p>“David, you’re not happy.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know that.”</p>
<p>“I do, actually.” Stevie nearly snaps, David can tell by the quick spike in her voice. “I—“</p>
<p><em>“He didn’t tell me!”</em> David heaves, hot tears spilling down his cheek, his hand gripping his hair like a vice. His voice feels cacophonous and raw in his little studio apartment, too loud as he sucks in a sharp, clogged breath. “He kept it—kept it <em>locked up </em>for months! What else was he lying about? Huh, Stevie?”</p>
<p>She remains silent, and David doesn’t know whether or not to take it as her being at a loss of words or just listening or both. His head feels foggy. <em>He </em>feels devastated.</p>
<p>“I’m just, what? Destined to be cursed in relationships? Am I not worth it?” His hand slides to press into his eyes, hard. “Why, just...<em>Patrick.”</em></p>
<p>David’s voice falters on his name and he shakes, his chest and belly rising and falling as he struggles to control his gross sobbing.</p>
<p>“He never told me ‘bout Rachel,” he continues gravelly, “and now she’s my friend and he’s my ex and that’s probably some kind of sick and twisted bull—“</p>
<p>“David.”</p>
<p>“No.” He shakes his head. “No. Is that...betrayal? Like, me being friends with the ex of an ex who I—Stevie, s’that bad?”</p>
<p>“Listen…I don’t want to argue with you,” comes Stevie’s tight response, which only makes the weight on David’s chest heavier. “This is a conversation we should definitely have when you’re sober. Or more sober. You’re in New York because you need to be, or whatever. And...I <em>miss </em>you. And this sucks.”</p>
<p>“It sucks,” he agrees.</p>
<p>“Can you please get yourself some water?”</p>
<p>“Don’t wanna.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“David.”</em>
</p>
<p>“Fine!”</p>
<p>He stomps over to the fridge and pulls out the filtered pitcher, pouring himself one glass and downing it, then one more just for good measure. Just to spite Stevie. Because he can.</p>
<p>She’s not even there and he can feel her eyes boring into him.</p>
<p>“I did it,” he announces to his phone. </p>
<p>“Okay, good.”</p>
<p>He grips the glass. “So stupid. S’all so stupid.”</p>
<p>“No, it’s not,” Stevie mutters.</p>
<p>“Now what?” He asks her, but he’s asking for an answer more broad and general than for something immediate.</p>
<p>“Shower,” she says, much lighter. “Take something. Go to bed. Deal with your dumb fucking hangover in the morning because I’m in another country and can’t make sure you get up before four in the afternoon.”</p>
<p>“Wish you were,” David grumbles, slumping into his counter. “You’d bring bagels at least.”</p>
<p>“I’d also bring an air horn,” is her reply, and he’s drunk, yeah, but there’s a smile in Stevie’s voice that he can recognize. “I’ll try and book a trip soon. I promise.”</p>
<p>David nods and hums and keeps nodding and nodding and nodding until his shoulders are shaking and he’s sucking in a breath as he slides down against his cabinets.</p>
<p>“Are you mad that I have another friend?” He asks, hunched.</p>
<p>“I mean, a little,” Stevie chides, but there’s a lilt to her voice that lets David know she doesn’t mean it.</p>
<p>“It’s Rachel, though.”</p>
<p>“So?” She sighs. “I think that’s okay. If you think it is.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I do.”</p>
<p>“It’s your life, David,” Stevie’s saying then, voice wavering. “You don’t have to please everyone. You certainly don’t need my approval on your other friendships.”</p>
<p>“But I—“</p>
<p>She cuts him off with a swift, “No,” and David quiets.</p>
<p>He suddenly feels the vast urge to call up Rachel and apologize to her, let her know that he doesn’t mean anything he just said about her even though she wasn’t there to witness it. Apologize for Patrick even though it’s not David’s place to do so. Even if he’s drunk and rambling and sad-angry<em>-exhausted.</em></p>
<p>She’d get it, though. Because she’s good and understanding.</p>
<p>Maybe another time. Maybe.</p>
<p>“Why did I say no?” He asks again then pathetically, quietly.</p>
<p>From there it’s just broken sobs. He eventually has to put his phone down because the screen’s slick with tears and it’s uncomfortable and hot on the side of his face. And Stevie, even though she’s a pain in the ass and really loves to toe the line with him, stays on the phone as David crumbles and cries because the alcohol and the emotionality of the last few months have finally caught up with him.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, just that it’s morning when he wakes up fully clothed on his bed, a beam of sunlight hitting his eyes. And checking his phone, his call with Stevie lasted an hour and fifty-three minutes.</p>
<p>He should really send her a gift basket. Or a case of wine.</p>
<p>Wine. Alcohol. Yeah, nope. Not right now.</p>
<p>David takes a very long, very hot shower, works through his skincare routine twice and goes to make the biggest pot of coffee imaginable only to realize he’s fresh out.</p>
<p>He feels like he was just pulled out from under a bridge, so there is no way in hell he’s making a run. He could Postmates it, be that person who orders an extra large coffee and enough carbs to feed a small army. But for the first time in his life, David doesn’t want to be alone while he soaks in his misery.</p>
<p>It’s a long shot, probably, but David pulls out his phone anyway.</p>
<p>He quickly lets Stevie know he’s alive and — god, is it really only 10:45? — opens up his text thread with Rachel.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>what are the odds you will come to my apartment with coffee and bagels and maybe a few chocolate croissants? </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>i am very hungover. </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>David busies himself in the meantime with digging out a pair of under eye patches from the bottom drawer in his bathroom until his phone pings.</p>
<p>It’s then that David’s convinced Rachel is an angel.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Rachel:<em> Oh boy, just tell me your coffee order and your address and I’ll be over as soon as I can!</em></strong>
</p>
<p>She’s there within half an hour, looking bright and refreshed — totally unfair — with a bag on her arm and a tray in her hands.</p>
<p>“Wow. Eye masks <em>and </em>sunglasses indoors. Must be a pretty gnarly hangover.”</p>
<p>“I would reprimand you on the usage of ‘gnarly’ but you brought me coffee so I’m going to let it slide. Also, I look like death incarnate.”</p>
<p>She chuckles. “Sure.” Rachel sets everything down on his raised kitchen table and holds out his coffee: large iced cold brew with a splash of milk and two sugars. His usual would just make him sick today.</p>
<p>“I was going to get you a growler, but they were out.” She starts digging through the paper bag, pulling out a few smaller waxy pastry bags. “I also really didn’t want to be responsible if you drank the whole thing and went into cardiac arrest.”</p>
<p>David narrows his eyes at her from under his sunglasses. “That’s so kind of you considering my GP’s dating my sister.”</p>
<p>“Ooh, there’s a story there.”</p>
<p>“It might involve a self-misdiagnosed pulmonary embolism and the only doctor in town being a vet.”</p>
<p>“A...wait, David, your GP’s a veterinarian?”</p>
<p>David starts batting a hand around impatiently. “I absolutely cannot get into this right now, I need carbs before I die.”</p>
<p>“I’ll be sure to keep your vet on speed dial” She smirks. “Where are your plates?”</p>
<p>“Middle cabinet.”</p>
<p>He watches as Rachel carries them over to his dresser and sets them there so she can push his window open. David would boo and hiss at the action because bugs and pigeons, but honestly the fresh air feels so nice.</p>
<p>Rachel’s then carrying four of the pastry bags over, too, and climbing out onto the fire escape.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Come on,” she says, not even turning around.</p>
<p>“At least—here.” He holds a blanket out the window that he uses for the sole purpose of sitting out there because he has limits on how many questionable surfaces his clothing touches, and Rachel laughs as she drapes it on the grate for him.</p>
<p>David passes the coffee through and follows Rachel out. Even though the ladder is securely locked, his stomach gives a flip at how high up they are. Honestly, that might just be the hangover.</p>
<p>“So do you wanna tell me about your wild night?” She asks as she tears off a piece of her bagel. </p>
<p>“Define wild.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” she hums. “Wild, adjective: sometimes meaning lacking in discipline or being very enthusiastic—“</p>
<p><em>“Oh my god.” </em>David pulls his glasses off for the full effect, but he’s sure the patches under his eyes aren’t helping. He probably just looks absurd. “You really did that?”</p>
<p>“Off that top of my head, too,” she agrees, “I’m kind of impressed with myself.”</p>
<p>“And yet I’m not sure what to think.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well.” Rachel shrugs. “Go ahead, tell me why you’re so hungover and begged me to bring you breakfast.”</p>
<p>David scoffs. “Excuse me, I didn’t <em>beg.”</em></p>
<p>“Three ‘where are you’ texts within the span of ten minutes after I agreed isn’t begging?” She arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”</p>
<p>“M’kay, I don’t need that.” He circles a hand at her, but Rachel just laughs again.</p>
<p>But instead of humoring her, David’s head drops onto his forearms and he grumbles miserably. Somewhere in the span of time between feeling sorry for himself and his headache spiking up again, Rachel’s hand finds the center of his back and rubs in small circles.</p>
<p>“I’m not allowing you to say sleep, because you’ve probably done enough of that already.”</p>
<p>“I beg to differ,” he grumbles mildly.</p>
<p>“But what’s one thing you would want to do today?” David picks his head up. “This seems like more than just a hangover so I think you need a little bit of a distraction.”</p>
<p>It’s not what he was expecting, to essentially be forced out of his apartment on a beautiful day when all he wants is do bury himself under eighty blankets, but Rachel’s not giving him <em>that </em>option. It’s an idea, a small one, but he could use a restorative peace wrapped in quiet.</p>
<p>“Have you ever been to the Met?” Rachel shakes her head, looking a little sorry for herself. It’s decided: “We’re going to the Met.”</p>
<p>____________________</p>
<p>“Oh…whoa.”</p>
<p>Taking in Rachel’s awe as they step into the Sackler Wing where the Temple of Dendur stands before them is worth the hike over to the upper east side. It rivals there reaction she had to the American Wing just moments before, where she spent a solid two minutes just staring before rushing into the period houses. </p>
<p>Her hands have gone limp at her sides as she blinks up at the sandstone, mouth agape.</p>
<p>David nudges her. “We can go inside, you know.”</p>
<p>She spins toward him. “Really?” When he nods, Rachel’s taking his hand and dragging him forward, giggling like a school kid, but she stops again right at the entry way.</p>
<p>“This is unbelievable,” she breathes, shaking her head. David gives her another nudge and she heads in.</p>
<p>They’re quiet, falling into a trance as they both circle the first room and offering mantle. David finds himself studying the carvings of offering scenes, so deeply engrossed, that he doesn’t notice Rachel is at his shoulder.</p>
<p>“How did it take me this long to come here?” She mutters to herself, even though David shrugs in response. “This is…so cool.”</p>
<p>“Can’t help but agree…” He turns to her. “This temple was actually built by Caesar Augustus of Rome,” David says, reciting from memory what he’s read countless times. “He built a bunch of temples to honor Egyptian deities. This one was in honor of Isis, the goddess of good fortune.”</p>
<p>Rachel lets out a low whistle. “Screw grade school history. This is so much better than pictures in a  textbook.”</p>
<p>David rolls his eyes. “I mean, that’s common knowledge.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, okay, we didn’t have museums like this where I grew up,” she replies. David watches as she spins around on the spot, taking in the rest of the room and even the ceiling. “It has a reflecting pool!” She points out the temple doorway back into the main gallery.</p>
<p>“There are actually nine water features in the Met, but this one is arguably the best one there is.” David nods toward the exit. “I’m sure you want to stare at this all day, but there’s so much more.”</p>
<p>“David, I have to come back here,” she insists.</p>
<p>“I’ll make sure of it.”</p>
<p>They walk through the other rooms with coffins and various relics from several periods until they both agree there’s just something a little too eerie about it all and move on.</p>
<p>It’s inevitable that David eventually leads them, almost by muscle-memory alone given how often he used to sit there, to the wing where the Greek and Roman statues are on display. The hours David would spend drinking in the marble statues of gods and goddesses was probably the closest thing to meditation he’ll ever get.</p>
<p>Rachel, of course, does her gaping and David revels in how much she’s enjoying herself. </p>
<p>Like an invisible string, David finds himself pulled toward a beautiful statue of Aphrodite. The marble looks miraculously soft, like if he were to touch it he would leave indents in the stone or have some sort of give. </p>
<p>She’s soft, curved and natural and nude; the goddess of love towers before him and David has to hold his breath. Her arms have been long gone, and where she might have once tried to keep herself decent, Aphrodite stands bare for the world to see.</p>
<p>The thought digs at something raw in his chest, and David finds himself having to look away for a split second to compose himself. He clears his throat, walking around to view the line of her back and the gold pigment within the marble and back around again to see the wave at the crown of her head.</p>
<p>He doesn’t spend much longer standing in her shadow while sunlights spills through the glass ceiling above, and since Rachel is no where to be found, he walks deeper into the hall.</p>
<p>A child skips past him, there are a few students sitting on the benches sketching as David makes his way to the opposite end of the room. He’s never been more grateful for the universally-adopted rule of hushed voices and no music in museums around the world.</p>
<p>Aside from a handful of trips to a few experimental exhibits, David finds solace each and every time.</p>
<p>It bores into him where it sits on its pedestal; big, round eyes, the bow of lips, broken and cracked marble a vast contrast to Aphrodite across the hall.</p>
<p>It’s barely a bust, just a head down to where the collarbones would be. David doesn’t even need to give the placard a glance to know who he’s losing a staring contest to: <em>Apollo.</em></p>
<p>He’s the epitome of beauty, David knows this from past reading, but he’s the god of music, too. The most beloved of Greek gods, suitably.</p>
<p>And it’s…reminding him so much of the man he’s trying to forget. The reason he moved back to New York in the first place.</p>
<p>Apollo. Music. Of course: there’s Patrick and his little guitar flashing in his mind. And beauty, that man David was getting so used to waking up next to. He spent so many hours memorizing the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and smiled, the way his brow furrowed when he was frustrated or concentrating particularly hard on something, the way it felt to kiss those pillowy lips.</p>
<p>It’s just that: a memory now.</p>
<p>Everything historians and mythology say about the Greece’s most beautiful god is false: Apollo pales in comparison to Patrick Brewer.</p>
<p>He made everything in David’s life good and wonderful. He was a light for too short a time, he was warmth.</p>
<p>And it absolutely fucking sucks that standing here, in the Met, that David needs to be punched in the gut with that fact he’s been trying to pay very little attention to.</p>
<p>“Apollo.” </p>
<p>He startles. Rachel’s standing next to David again, hands laced in front of her. “The sun god,” she says as if she was reading his mind.</p>
<p>“Mm-hm.”</p>
<p>“And the god of divination.”</p>
<p>“Mm-hm.”</p>
<p>She loops her arm in his and pulls him close, leaning into his shoulder, a silent understanding. “And the god of music…”</p>
<p>Quieter, slower: “Mm-hm.”</p>
<p>The gentle hum of activity continues as the pair stands and observes the head of Apollo. </p>
<p>If David wipes a few tears from his eye, then he’ll blame it on the bright sunlight coming from above and his hangover. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not only did this chapter make me super nostalgic for The Met, but it had me scouring through the museum's archives for pieces and sculptures that would work for this particular bit. I'm not entirely sure if the Apollo bust is still on display, but I took creative liberty here.</p>
<p>The site is incredibly informative and you're even able to take a look at some of the current exhibits. Here is what was featured in this chapter:</p>
<p>  <b><br/><a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/547802">The Temple of Dendur</a><br/></b></p>
<p>  <b><br/><a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/254697">Aphrodite</a><br/></b></p>
<p>  <b><br/><a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/246995">Apollo</a><br/></b></p>
<p>As always, you can find me <a href="maxbegone.tumblr.com">@maxbegone</a> on tumblr!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Okay...strangest place you’ve ever woken up.”</p><p>David gives his shoulders a roll and leans back onto his forearms. This will definitely take some thinking, there have been a <em>lot </em>of strange places he’s regained consciousness. </p><p>This game of back-and-forth was Rachel’s idea, so she’ll just have to be patient. Still, she gives him a look of intrigue, popping a grape into her mouth from the bag between them.</p><p>In fact, the whole day was Rachel’s idea. It’s a Sunday afternoon in late spring and Brooklyn Bridge Park is full of people taking advantage of the mild weather, laying on blankets, throwing balls around, having picnics of their own. </p><p>David’s far from opposed to the idea, he was just opposed to Rachel banging on his door at noon and excitedly telling him to get dressed without letting him know where they were going. She just had a tote stuffed and held closed save for the top of a bottle of sparkling water peeking out the top.</p><p>Had he known Rachel would be such a peppy girl who loved surprising him, David would have laid some ground rules in the beginning.</p><p>Still…</p><p>“I once woke up in a tiny beachside hut with four other people passed out around me, wearing someone else’s clothes,” David answers, the hazy memory coming back to him. “Which was a mistake, who the hell wears neoprene on <em>purpose?”</em></p><p>“Aren’t a lot of wetsuits made out of that stuff? You <em>were</em> on a beach.”</p><p>David stills. “Yes, but my opinion of it still stands.” </p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>“Listen, I was in that wild period of my twenties, so it’s water through the tunnel or whatever they say.”</p><p>Rachel smirks at him. “Bridge. It’s water under the bridge.”</p><p>“Okay, whatever.” David takes a handful of grapes and searches the bunch for the greenest one. “You?”</p><p>“On the bleachers of my university campus stadium during finals week,” she replies without hesitation, rolling a grape between two fingers. “I hadn’t slept in close to thirty hours because I was studying for my psych exam and I was meeting a friend to compare notes. Long story short, I laid down to rest my eyes and woke up forty minutes later with her standing over me. I was also the proud owner of a brand new light sunburn.”</p><p>David squints. “I thought we were answering this question as if we had no knowledge of <em>how </em>we got to the place we woke up.”</p><p>“Not all of us are well-traveled, Rose.” </p><p>“That’s true. I’ve woken up in a lot of strange places.”</p><p>“Been a lot of strange places, too, I assume.”</p><p>“You’d have to clarify what you mean by strange. Some nights, I used to blindly follow whoever I was with and just go along with it. Like, this one time I was out with some people in Miami, and the next thing we knew we were on a plane to Turks and Caicos before midnight. There’s a reason I can’t even look at Jagerbombs anymore.” David shudders at the thought, and Rachel lets out a hollow whistle.</p><p>“Sounds fun.”</p><p>“I was trying really hard back then, so…Why are you laughing?”</p><p>“Because I’m honestly trying to envision what you looked like in your early twenties!” Rachel giggles — she actually <em>giggles! </em>Like some sort of schoolgirl! — and covers her mouth.</p><p>David glares incredulously, lips pursed. “If you must know, I was <em>just </em>coming off of a candy raver phase which involved wearing more color than I ever will again in my life.”</p><p>“Oh my god!” Rachel’s laughter only gets worse. “You can’t be sure about that, though!”</p><p>“Are you serious?” He gestures to his all-black ensemble. “I have a very tasteful aesthetic to uphold, I will not be bringing gross neons and asymmetrical haircuts back into my life.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” she replies through a hiccup. “I think you’d look very handsome.”</p><p>“Ew, no! Enough of that!” David sits tall. “My turn: worst haircut you’ve ever had.”</p><p>“Was yours the asymmetrical one?”</p><p>“It’s not my turn to answer first. Also no.”</p><p>Rachel purses her lips contemplatively for a moment, head tilted toward the sky as she thinks of an answer.</p><p>“Oh! Okay, got it!” She rubs her hands together excitedly. “I know we’ve all had the classic bowl cut,” she says, giving David a little smile when he shakes his head no, “but by far the worst haircut I ever had I gave to myself.”</p><p>David’s eyes go wide in anticipation. “Uh-oh.”</p><p>She gives a little hum. “I was seven, put my hair right up in a very high ponytail and just—“ She makes a snipping motion in front of her that has David positively laughing.</p><p>He’s gone for a solid minute, which is only fair considering how hard Rachel just laughed at him, clutching his stomach with one hand as he waves at the crown of his head with the other.</p><p>“Wait, wait!” He takes a deep breath. “You just—what the hell did you look like?”</p><p>“A mess,” Rachel nods. “I’m pretty sure my mom wanted to kill me, honestly.”</p><p>“Was this before or after the bowl cut?”</p><p>“Ooh, about three years after,” she says, tucking a strand of her now unharmed red hair behind her ear. “But that one stuck with me for awhile, too. And I was insistent on keeping it that way! My parents actually let me go to school like that for three days before my teacher called home concerned. Meanwhile, I was just walking around like it didn’t bother me.”</p><p>David shakes his head slowly. “I envy your confidence, Rachel Chapman.”</p><p>She gives him a shrug and slides her sunglasses from the crown of her head over her eyes, putting on the voice of a 1930’s Hollywood starlet. “Why, thank you.”</p><p>“So mine isn’t too far off. At-home hairstyling and all that.”</p><p>In a split-second, Rachel’s taking her sunglasses off her eyes. “Please tell me you wore one of your mom’s wigs to school.”</p><p>“Um, no,” he scoffs, “she would literally never let me touch them without her permission. I’m the only one in my family, aside from her, that knows how to handle them properly and she <em>still </em>wouldn’t let me wear them with the exception of the one Halloween I dressed up as Alanis Morrisette.”</p><p>“Now <em>there’s </em>a story.”</p><p>“Nope,” David raises a finger, trying to shrink his smile, “not going there.”</p><p>“So that’s a no to the wigs…” Rachel pauses, looking slightly disappointed. “Don’t leave me hanging.”</p><p>He holds suspense, shutting his eyes as he digs his teeth into his bottom lip. “I dyed my own hair.”</p><p>“You <em>what?” </em>Rachel gawks at him, which David should be offended by, but they’ve also been laughing at each other back and forth for the better part of an hour, so he can let it slide.</p><p>“Wow,” she chuckles, “never have I ever.</p><p>“Okay, yeah, we’re not playing that game because I would lose.” David stops, a grape halfway to his mouth. “Wait, if I put all my fingers down does that mean I win?”</p><p>“I think it depends on who you’re playing with,” Rachel replies, flexing her fingers like she’s playing the party game now. “C’mon, David, tell me what you did to your hair!”</p><p>“I just did!” He protests, raising his hands.</p><p>“All you said was that you dyed your hair. You didn’t say what <em>color.”</em></p><p>David closes his eyes. He can see himself now, his reflection staring back at him circa 2002 with one of the worst dye jobs he’s ever seen.</p><p>“Bleached my whole head.”</p><p>“Oh…you’re kidding me.”</p><p>“Rachel, I <em>wish </em>I was kidding you.”</p><p>Her eyes are wide. “What did your parents say?”</p><p>“Uh, I managed to hide it from them for the first few days. I wore one of those black corps hats that were super in. Alexis eventually called me on my bullshit when I said I was now a hat person then took it off my head and ran down the hall while I chased her. My dad couldn’t form two full sentences and my mom just…I think she scolded me, I really couldn’t tell.” David shrugs. “I got it fixed the day after that debacle.”</p><p>Rachel’s eyes are sparkling as she says, “You know, I would have loved to have known you back then.”</p><p>“Um, no you would not have. I was an asshole. Still am.”</p><p>“Eh, you have your moments.” She waves a hand playfully. “I’ve got one more for you,” she says, and David watches her carefully. “Your first kiss.”</p><p>“Ah.” He twists his rings around. “I’m going to be completely honest and say that I don’t actually remember her name, but I do know it was with one of the child actors they had on for an episode Sunrise Bay. I was, like, eleven?”</p><p>Rachel oohs. “How was it?”</p><p>“I’ve had worse kisses,” David admits haughtily. “Who was yours?”</p><p>He braces himself for the answer, not sure if he really wants to hear it.</p><p>Rachel smiles tightly. “So, it’s not who you’re thinking,” she starts off slowly, and David releases a trapped breath. “I was also eleven and it was at a friend’s birthday party at an arcade. One of my classmates asked to kiss me, so I told him that if he won me something I would. It was a quick little peck. Nothing came out of it.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, did you bribe someone into winning you a prize?”</p><p>“Absolutely.” She nods pridefully. “He gave me one of those plastic rainbow slinkies that broke within a week of playing with it.”</p><p>“I’m so happy I had much higher standards as an eleven-year-old.” Granted, David has never once stepped foot in an arcade; he used to pass a bunch during his annual trips to Japan, but that was as close as he got.</p><p>“Now, my first <em>real </em>kiss…you know the answer to that,” Rachel continues steadily. “Summer lake trip with friends, fifteen years old.”</p><p>David swallows thickly. “Are we about to compare notes?” He jokes in lieu of an internal freakout.</p><p>He still has one. A brief one. A minor one.</p><p>“Nope, just wanted to give you an answer that didn’t involve a bunch of little kids shrieking in disgust.”</p><p>As if by some miracle, his phone pings next to him on the blanket, saving David from finding an anecdote. Or shirking the comment altogether.</p><p>
  <strong>Stevie:<em> u better still be alive bc I haven’t heard from u in 3 days.</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Stevie:<em> I get ur clothes if ur dead tho. we have an agreement.</em></strong>
</p><p>David opens up his camera and points it at Rachel. “Hey.”</p><p>She leans back on her hands, long hair falling behind her as she smiles with her eyes shielded behind her sunglasses once again.</p><p>“Who’s that going to?” She asks after, leaning over to see it.</p><p>“Stevie wants proof of life.”</p><p>“And I’m the proof?”</p><p>“We’re on a picnic,” he says with a barely-contained roll of his eyes. Because <em>really. </em>“Me taking the photo obviously means I’m alive.”</p><p>“Or it means that your phone was stolen and now a stranger is texting her.”</p><p>Well if <em>that </em>doesn’t sound eerily similar to something Stevie would say. Jesus, these two cannot be in a room together. Either alone or with David, he’d be obliterated.</p><p>“She knows who you are,” he states, hitting send on the text. “She knows that we’re friends.”</p><p>Rachel’s face does something soft, her lips pulling into a kinder, less teasing smile. “We’re friends?”</p><p>“We’re still in the trial period.”</p><p>“Of course.” She pauses. “How is Stevie?”</p><p>David shrugs nonchalantly. “She’s Stevie. She doesn’t emote.”</p><p>The truth is, David really fucking misses her. Sure, they haven’t spoken in a few days, but work’s been busy for both of them. And it’s not like he doesn’t know what’s going on with the motel; his dad’s been emailing him non-stop with updates. He cares, he <em>does</em>, but not enough to receive an itemized list of all the improvements they’re doing once a week.</p><p>Although he is particularly fucking proud of how hard Stevie’s hustling.</p><p>He’s happy his family is doing okay, he’s happy Stevie’s doing okay. It was tough leaving them, but he didn’t have much of a choice in the end.</p><p>“I’ll call her tonight,” he decides, mostly promising himself, but Rachel’s curt nod of support is nice, too. </p><p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p><p>Somewhere, blocks away from his building, a siren goes off, the telltale sign of action within the city. It’s a nightly occurrence — hourly, really, and a soothing one at this point. </p><p>It’s a hard left turn from the crickets and other gross insects with milky exoskeletons that inhabited Schitt’s Creek, white noise that he got scarily used to. He used to sleep with that stuff right outside the thin motel walls. Literally feet away from him! And the other roaming animals…Sometimes David wonders how he never opened his door to a cow staring back at him in the morning.</p><p>Granted, New York has pigeons, but they’re more like a tertiary category of pedestrians and are much more tolerable than cyclists. The subway rats are a different story entirely.</p><p>David succumbs to the cool Sunday evening with a glass of wine and his iPad propped up on its stand. He sits outside on his fire escape as he waits for Stevie to call him, not a bug in sight or earshot, mid-sip when she does and nearly spilling his Malbec onto his collar. He curses his past self for the choice of ringtone for his best friend — the alarm might give anyone close by a near heart attack but it’s <em>apt.</em></p><p>“Oh good, you’re alive,” she greets in her usual monotone.</p><p>It takes all of two seconds for David to realize that she’s calling him from the desk at the motel, if the gaudy bottom right section of the stag painting is anything to go by.</p><p>“Good to see you’re prioritizing work, you heathen,” he retorts.</p><p>She gives him a scowl. “No one else is checking in tonight, it’s fine. And your parents got roped into dinner with Roland and Jocelyn, so neither of them will be walking in.”</p><p>“Thank god, because I didn’t want to deal with them.”</p><p>“My shift ends soon anyway, I’m just here in case anyone needs me.”</p><p>The noise David makes is unimpressed. “Employee of the month.” </p><p>“I’ve honestly been thinking about getting business cards made that say ‘Manager in Room 7 if Needed’and leaving them out for the guests,” Stevie adds with a casual shrug and David knows she never would, but it’s a borderline chaotic (and impressive) move.</p><p>“And where’s my wonderfully nosey sister tonight? Giving herself a terrible fake tan again?”</p><p>Stevie snorts so hard into her mug — David’s assuming it's also wine — that some of it comes up over the brim, onto her sleeve, which — good. Rather her flannel and the already stained motel desk than his precious knits.</p><p>“I honestly have no idea,” Stevie manages once she regains her composure, “she’s probably with Ted.”</p><p>“I’m so happy you have to deal with the two of them being disgusting instead of me.”</p><p>Stevie’s mouth opens halfway before promptly clamping shut. “Yeah, thanks for that,” she mutters instead, tipping her mug back, and David does the same with his own glass.</p><p>“So I have some bad news,” she continues. There’s some clattering on her end, and David watches her surreptitiously pour what is <em>definitely </em>more wine into her mug under the desk. She balances the bottle between her legs and corks it, setting it back in its spot before continuing. “I can’t swing my trip next month.”</p><p>“Fuck,” David groans. “Why not?”</p><p>“Tickets are stupid expensive even for a red-eye, and we’re really busy right now. I just have no way of doing it.” It’s strange, the way she actually looks a little beside herself. “Your dad can’t handle the motel alone with Roland; something will probably explode and I’m not dealing with the aftermath.” She sighs, her face falling even more as she sets her chin in her hand. “I’m sorry, David.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” he lies, trying his very best to put on a front. But his voice is strained. “I get it. There’s always the month after.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know that but…” Stevie sighs again, brows pinched. “I wanted to come celebrate your birthday with you. Let you drag me to a really fancy restaurant that I have no business being in. Rack up more debt because you’ll make me pay.”</p><p>“You would absolutely be paying,” David agrees. </p><p>“Now you’re gonna be alone.”</p><p>He blinks because he is absolutely not going to cry right now, no way in hell. He waves his hand. “Stevie, it’s fine. Like I said — the month after. We’re both thriving in our work environments, so I can let this slide.”</p><p>She just pouts.</p><p>“I won’t be alone.” His smile twists into his cheek. “I have friends here.”</p><p>“Rachel,” Stevie says tentatively, like she’s testing the name on her tongue.</p><p>David’s afraid she’s going to react badly, sit broad and unmoving while he chews through his bottom lip anxiously. But instead, and in a way that’s much more preferred, she smirks.</p><p>At least David <em>thinks </em>he prefers it. He never knows with Stevie, but he nods.</p><p>“Right. Your new best friend. Who you’ve replaced me with.”</p><p>“Well she’s much cooler than you,” he replies with a half-shrug. “Get this: Rachel’s actually <em>nice.” </em></p><p>Stevie’s eye roll instantly soothes his fraying nerves more than a good wine ever could. Because Stevie Budd, above all else, is a constant in his life that David can <em>never</em> fucking lose. He loves her, and she knows he loves her and vice versa even though they <em>rarely</em> eversay any of the cheesy stuff. Stevie would go into anaphylactic shock if they did it too often.</p><p><em>She doesn’t emote, </em>he’d said not eight hours ago.</p><p>Still, it’s nearly a thousand miles between David’s fire escape and the motel desk.</p><p>“She can’t be that nice if she’s friends with you.” It’s sly. It’s Stevie.</p><p>“No one is replacing you,” he assures her, even though they both already know that. It’s nice to say it aloud, and David is sure it’s nice for Stevie to hear. “You’re my best friend.”</p><p>“I better be,” comes her stoic reply, which only has David missing her even more.</p><p>She’s awful and wonderful and absolutely goddamn infuriating.</p><p>“We can still do something on my birthday.” David gestures around to his little set up. “I’m not opposed to sharing a drink over FaceTime.”</p><p>“Unless Alexis decides to come and see you,” Stevie replies stoically. “I’m sure you’d have a lot of fun.”</p><p>“Mm, no. She’d just wind up dragging me to 5th Ave and press her face up against all the storefronts.”</p><p>“I could tell your parents that you’ve been whining about how much you miss them.“</p><p>“Um, <em>no.”</em></p><p>“They don’t have to necessarily visit you for your birthday, but I’m sure they’d be thrilled to set up a weekly family dinner over video chat—“</p><p>“Okay, you know what?” David waves a finger around. “We’re done with you. I’m hanging up now.”</p><p>“You do that, I’ll call right back. I’m here for another thirty-five minutes and I’ve already beaten my Solitaire high score.”</p><p>“I won’t answer; I have plans.”</p><p>“No you don’t.”</p><p>“I have a hydrating mask and a season of <em>Downton Abbey </em>queued up. Those qualify as plans.”</p><p>“That excuse didn’t work when you lived here and it definitely doesn’t work now that you’re in New York.”</p><p>David glares at her through the fuzzy feed, sipping his wine with a grimace and refusing to acknowledge the fact that Stevie is correct. He doesn't need to feed into that ego.</p><p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Eight Months Ago, October</em>
</p><p>“Okay, I dropped the money in the safe and double-checked the lock on the back door, so whenever you’re ready to go, David.” </p><p>“Just a second, I’m just…” He trails off mid-rotation, lining up each and every bag of coffee in a perfectly straight formation, their labels facing the door.</p><p>He knows Patrick is watching him with amusement behind the cash waiting for him to finish, but David’s <em>in the zone. </em>Sure, he could absolutely leave all of this for tomorrow, but Patrick comes in at one which means he has to open and Opening David will be really pissed at Closing David if he does.</p><p>And there were a bunch of grubby tweens touching everything this afternoon so really, this is vital.</p><p><em>Speaking of which…</em> “You restocked the lip balms right?” David asks, getting eye-level with the bags, thighs aching.</p><p>“Yes, I did.”</p><p>“And what about—“</p><p>“The bath bombs, too. And the toner, and the stationary. And, before you ask, <em>yes </em>I did wipe down every surface they touched after handling all that lotion.”</p><p>David remains in his crouched position and snaps his head toward Patrick. “You think you’re funny.”</p><p>If the way he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth is any indication then yes, Patrick definitely thinks he is.</p><p>“I know you already wiped them all down, but I did it again just in case you lost sleep over it.” He’s giving David these big, dumb doe-eyes, not at all hiding his pride.</p><p>“That one girl bought the completely wrong toner for her skin type,” David says instead. He stands, back cracking. <em>“That </em>I will be losing sleep over.”</p><p>“So correct her the next time she comes in to buy more.”</p><p>“Okay, part of me really wants to ban anyone under the age of eighteen from coming into our store so I don’t have to deal with immature monstrosities, but I know you’ll never allow that.”</p><p>Patrick hums indignantly, flicking the lights off behind the cash. “You’d also want to ban Roland and we really can’t do that.” Off David’s look, he adds, “He’s the mayor and he does spend a lot of money.”</p><p>
  <em>Stupid fucking loopholes.</em>
</p><p>“Fine. I’m done, let’s go.”</p><p>Patrick’s hand slides up his back. “Your bag’s already in my car.”</p><p>“It is?” David stops short. “Why?”</p><p>“Because you were taking a while and I decided to do something chivalrous.”</p><p>His eyes narrow. “Did you put something in my bag that I’m going to be annoyed about?”</p><p>“Only my ledger and a bottle of body oil.”</p><p>“Mm. So hot.”</p><p>Patrick winks. It’s terrible. “I know,” he agrees, holding the door open for David. “Places to be, let’s go.”</p><p>David bounds down the steps, breathes in the night air, and is making his way across the street when Patrick calls out to him. He’s a solid eight paces behind him and standing by the corner of the building.</p><p>“What?” He points to the café “I thought we were going to dinner.”</p><p>Patrick just nods toward where his car is parked.</p><p>“What?” David asks again, a little impatiently.</p><p>“We’re not going to the café tonight, David,” Patrick replies.</p><p>“We’re not…?”</p><p>“You trust me, right?”</p><p>David’s eyes narrow. “I’m admittedly starting to become a little wary…”</p><p>“Date night,” is all Patrick says in response as he pivots on his heel and unlocks his car.</p><p>Really, David has no choice <em>but </em>to follow, feeling both intrigued and a little bit convinced that Patrick will just leave him in the dust if he doesn’t actually get in the car.</p><p>And then he’ll have to walk home without his bag as he swats off bugs.</p><p>Even if the suspense is killing him — because apparently Patrick likes planning things and surprising David with them even though David <em>hates</em> surprises on the best of days — it’s the better option.</p><p>“What are we, a middle-aged couple who has a standing date night in their schedule each week because work is hard and exhausting and that’s the only thing we’ve got going for us?” David asks once they finally pull out of the town limits. “Because it’s only been three months so we cannot be hitting that point of our relationship yet.”</p><p>“Yes we are and we’ve managed to get a sitter for tonight,” Patrick jokes, tapping his fingers against the wheel, and David shakes his head.</p><p>“No. No kids, that’s not funny.”</p><p>“That’s not funny,” Patrick agrees, even though he’s coyly pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth again.</p><p>The sun is hanging lower and lower in the sky the longer they drive, and David is actively trying to ignore the grumbling his stomach makes. Patrick turns down a familiar street in Elmdale and for a brief second there’s hope that they’re going to the little French bistro tucked between the used bookstore and the salon, but they keep on driving.</p><p>It’s fine, David didn’t want Béatrice’s buttery and delicious vol-au-vent tonight anyway.</p><p>But now he’ll be thinking about it all week.</p><p>Patrick doesn’t stop at any of their other usual spots, either. He just keeps heading through the town as David grows restless.</p><p>“Patrick…Where are we going?”</p><p>“It’s a surprise.”</p><p>“Okay, but we’ve been over this. I don’t like surprises.”</p><p>“David,” he placates. “Trust me, please.”</p><p>He sighs. “Fine. But only because we’re still in a moving vehicle and I’m not walking home.”</p><p>“You’ll love it, I promise.” Patrick smiles and gives his thigh a squeeze before turning his attention back on the road like the responsible driver he is.</p><p>The silence stretches on with the road, passing acres and acres of farms as the sky moves from orange to purple to blue before David’s impatience finally catches up with him.</p><p>“Can I at least have a hint?”</p><p>“Nope.” Patrick’s grinning and David makes a little noise at the back of his throat because of it.</p><p>“It’s not a restaurant,” he concludes. “Will there at least be food?”</p><p>Patrick’s head tilts to one side. “I <em>may </em>have packed something.”</p><p>David arcs a brow, curious. “You packed something? What kind of something?”</p><p>Patrick’s hand slides up and down his leg reassuringly. “Just a few more minutes and you’ll see.”</p><p>“You’re going to leave me in a ditch, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Stevie told you my plan, did she?”</p><p>“No,” he replies flatly, “but I wouldn’t be surprised.”</p><p>Patrick punches out a laugh and signals right, pulling into a vast, nearly-empty lot. David peers around as they pull up to a small admissions booth.</p><p>And then Patrick’s greeting the woman sitting inside the sad little station, saying something about two adult tickets and handing over cash.</p><p>“Enjoy the movie,” the woman says as they drive away and it <em>clicks.</em></p><p>“Patrick?” David’s prematurely unbuckled and turned in his seat to face him fully. “Is this what I think it is?”</p><p>He doesn’t answer, but his unwavering smile is as much of one as are the other parked cars facing the stadium-sized screen several hundred feet in front of them.</p><p>Patrick gets out of the car before David has any time to process a truly <em>fantastic </em>surprise. He gets out, too, just in time to watch his boyfriend — <em>god, </em>it’s still making David’s heart skip two beats every time he just thinks about it — lay a blanket out on the hood and set two cushions against the windshield. He even has a spare blanket, likely to cover them both.</p><p>Patrick really does think of everything. <em>Ugh, </em>David doesn’t know how much kindness he can take.</p><p>“How do you feel,” Patrick begins low, setting a small cooler down on top of the blanket, “about <em>Notting Hill </em>and a nice spread from the store?” He shoves his hands deep in his pockets.</p><p>“I mean, I <em>love </em>Julia Roberts,” David replies, which is the absolute truth. With a bounce, he adds, “And I <em>love </em>Hugh Grant.”</p><p>Patrick saunters closer. “So…you like the surprise?”</p><p>David walks his fingers up his chest. “I like the surprise.” <em>I like you, </em>he doesn’t say, but there’s no need; it’s already known.</p><p>Patrick helps David onto the hood before climbing up there himself. They huddle as close together as they can with the cooler between them as the movie starts and it eventually gets relocated to the roof behind them.</p><p>They’ve done this before in a different environment; it’s their usual tango where a movie plays, a blanket is shared between them, and there are always snacks (usually in the form of popcorn). David almost always winds up with his head on Patrick’s shoulder, comfortable enough that he nearly falls asleep. ‘Nearly’ being the key word here — he never wants to miss out on a moment of whatever bliss this is.</p><p>Which — scary.</p><p>And there’s usually the unfortunate anticipation of interruptions in the form of an overly-friendly landlord who doesn’t understand the concept of knocking or privacy.</p><p>But there’s none of that tonight.</p><p>David is nosing at Patrick’s neck well into the second act, planting soft, chaste kisses to his warming skin. Patrick pulls him impossibly close to catch his lips properly in a swift but no less gorgeous kiss.</p><p>David would swoon if he could, but he’s currently a little preoccupied with lazily making out with a beautiful man. And fuck, does he have plans once they’re somewhere with a bed — the things Patrick does to him. And for him. It makes David’s mind go fuzzy in the best way. </p><p>It’s almost unfair.</p><p>For a scary, almost out-of-body moment, David thinks all this with Patrick could really be something…permanent? His stomach does a swoop at the thought.</p><p>It’s still new, it’s only been three months, but this is by far the most cared for and appreciated David has ever felt in his life. </p><p>And he has spent an embarrassing amount of years studying self help books front to back in order to achieve even the tiniest sliver of this kind of satisfaction. Highlighter had actually seeped through the pages.</p><p>But Patrick makes everything in those books seem unwarranted. Not a day goes by when he doesn’t crack David’s carefully-curated metaphorical fortress he’s surrounded his too-tender heart with over the years.</p><p>Two months ago, David wore head-to-toe Givenchy baby’s breath and performed The Number on stage in the middle of summer in front of Patrick and the whole town, but really <em>Patrick.</em> It was terrifying, but it was a moment of vulnerability that David has never let anyone see before.</p><p>Not long after that, they, along with Stevie, wrestled over the meaning of ‘compromise’ as David’s Freudian slip during a rant about shoes made him drop ‘boyfriend’ for the first time. He’s had other partners, other labels for them all, both good and bad, but that was the first time it felt easy, even if Stevie was sitting right there — <em>god.</em></p><p>This morning, mere hours before the whiny tweens came into the store after daycare (school) let out, Patrick witnessed David’s open-mouthed, messy-haired, deep sleep as he attempted to burrow further into the pillows. It’s something Patrick has seen countless times now, but it’s a feat for David; that state of ugly, the early morning unguardedness that his partners (sexual or otherwise) before were never privy to see.</p><p>But Patrick…he appreciates it. He appreciates every iteration of David and it’s…astonishing.</p><p>“This is my favorite version of you,” Patrick had grumbled one morning, weeks ago, nibbling at his ear when they both woke up disheveled and soft, voices thick. And because they had no where to be and a house to themselves, they fucked slowly, sleepily into the mattress in yet another way David’s prior partners have never bared witness.</p><p>Whereas David had always tried to do what everyone else wanted in bed, Patrick <em>asks, </em>he listens, and they split the giving and taking equally — not just with sex. </p><p>He makes him feel whole.</p><p>What a concept.</p><p>Patrick has David’s number, he knows his not-uncomplicated coffee order, he knows how to treat his most prized garments with care, knows what to do when he spins out, and Patrick knows how to handle David’s heart, understands <em>why </em>it must be handled that way.</p><p>So, yeah. Right here under the stars while William and Anna fall in love, David thinks this thing with Patrick can really be something.</p><p>He snuggles further into Patrick’s chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with whatever detergent he uses and lets a private smile grow on his lips as their legs tangle together under an old blanket.</p><p>It’s a safe kind of feeling he doesn’t ever want to lose.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! As always, you can find me <a href="maxbegone.tumblr.com">@maxbegone</a> on tumblr!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Eight Months Ago, November</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Now I gotta go to town hall to get some signatures for our permit renewal, but don’t worry, David, unlike the birthday clown…I will be back.” </em>
</p>
<p>Patrick was teasing him. David knows that, he knows his boyfriend well enough to understand his lovable, yet ostensibly trolling mannerisms.</p>
<p>But now he’s alone in the store with <em>that</em> bouncing around in his brain with nothing to do but entertain the one or two customers who decide to come in on a slow afternoon.</p>
<p>There’s always the other half of the cookie. But David supposes putting up a sign that says he’ll be back in fifteen minutes just so he can go to the motel and back is probably a bad business practice.</p>
<p>He’ll never forgive Patrick for the embarrassing ordeal of a giant cookie — or the other ‘monthiversary’ gifts, for the love of god — but…it’s a really good fucking cookie.</p>
<p>It’ll be there later.</p>
<p>Unless Alexis or Stevie get their grubby hands on it, in which David will absolutely be A, yelling at them and B, asking Patrick to give him the name of the bakery so he can go and get another one.</p>
<p>At least he managed to keep the barbecue a secret from Patrick so he won’t have to endure his family’s antics this evening. He understands their intentions, really he does, they just want to get to know him better, but there’s no point in celebrating measly little milestones. The fanfare isn’t necessary, and no matter how often David tells Patrick, he’s ignored.</p>
<p>It’s…sweet, if David is being really honest with himself. His partners have never cared about him enough to actually celebrate their relationship. They never lasted long enough anyway.</p>
<p>Which he just mentioned. Moments ago. To Patrick. </p>
<p>Mortifying.</p>
<p>Their relationship is officially the longest one David’s ever been in and that fact should be really fucking sad. But Patrick didn’t react like he was surprised, even if David was feeling pretty damn embarrassed about admitting it; he seemed proud and maybe even a little...excited?</p>
<p>David pushes aside the curtain and steps into the back room, trying to hide the color blooming on his cheeks even though the store is empty. </p>
<p>Twenty minutes turns into thirty turns into forty and David’s starting to get just the slightest bit anxious. Like, a miniscule amount.</p>
<p>That’s actually a complete lie — he’s itching to pick at his cuticles which means he’s maybe slightly neurotic.</p>
<p>Patrick should be back by now — he promised he was coming back! — and he should be nagging David for not restocking the bars of goat milk hand soap like he had asked him to this morning.</p>
<p>He gives himself an additional five minutes and twenty-three seconds, talks himself off away from the ledge that is calling a search party for his missing boyfriend, and marches over to town hall.</p>
<p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p>
<p>Okay, so maybe David should have called a search party. If he had, then he wouldn’t have been subjected to finding his mother confabulating with Patrick!</p>
<p>And confabulating is <em>not </em>a word he uses often.</p>
<p>But he did find them, and now David’s being teased (taunted, really) by Patrick as they close up for the day.</p>
<p>“So, I’m thinking about some Beatles for the singalong tonight,” he muses across the empty store. David’s back is to him, but he can feel his gaze on the back of his head. “What do you think?”</p>
<p>“I think I would much rather be subjected to cleaning airport bathrooms,” David replies flatly over his shoulder. “Also, just...no.”</p>
<p>“No?” Patrick crosses the room. “I think <em>Come Together </em>would be a really lovely choice.”</p>
<p>“And I think this is a terrible idea.”</p>
<p>He laughs. “David.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” He drops the leather patchwork satchel he’s holding onto a chair and clasps his hands under his chin. “This is me convincing-slash-begging you not to come tonight.”</p>
<p>“David—”</p>
<p>“It will be really boring. My dad has never used a grill in his life! And my <em>mother </em>will be there—”</p>
<p>“Your mother is lovely.”</p>
<p>“Patrick, it took her two months to get your name right and I literally just had to tell her not to call you Pat.”</p>
<p>He blinks owlishly. “What if I want you to call me Pat?”</p>
<p>“I—” David gets caught on the word. “Do you?”</p>
<p>“No, of course not,” he says and, well, Patrick’s failing to hide his smile. Not that he’s actually trying.</p>
<p>Rude.</p>
<p>“It’ll be fun.”</p>
<p>“M’kay, I think you and I have very different definitions of fun.”</p>
<p>“Oh…” Patrick nods slowly, putting a hand out. “Please, tell me your definition.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be snippy,” he retorts, biting back a grin and failing. “My family and ‘fun’ do not belong in the same sentence.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I beg to differ. They are <em>very </em>entertaining.”</p>
<p>“You say that now.” David picks up the discarded bag and moves it to the display in the corner. He swings one leg across the other and sets a hand on his hip. “Stevie will be there.”</p>
<p>“And that’s supposed to deter me…?”</p>
<p>David sighs. “I don’t know, maybe?”</p>
<p>“I like Stevie,” Patrick shrugs. “We’re friends.”</p>
<p>“Alexis will be there, too.”</p>
<p>“I also like your sister, David.”</p>
<p>“Okay…” He stops fidgeting with the strap of the bag, both his arms falling to his sides. He doesn’t really know what to do next. Maybe rearrange the stationary display around, sort everything by color, then size, and then use.</p>
<p>That could be enough to keep them both from attending this first circle of hell event. David just needs something to get both himself and Patrick to nosedive into work; he’s not a fan, but tonight he’s willing to offer to do the merchandising. Even if that’s not on the schedule for another week and a half.</p>
<p>Turning that over in his mind knowing that Patrick absolutely will not have it, David says, “What if I’m uncomfortable?”</p>
<p>It’s enough to get Patrick to set his comforting hands on David’s shoulders, soothing him. “Then if you’re really uncomfortable, David, I won’t come.”</p>
<p>He tosses his head back with a groan. “Fine, but you have to promise not to judge if something gets out of hand. And,” he points a finger in warning, “you cannot use anything embarrassing you hear tonight as ammunition. Stevie has enough to last two lifetimes and I still do not trust her not to share it publicly.”</p>
<p>“Aw, David,” Patrick kisses his cheek. “You know I can’t do that.” Another kiss, and then, “We’ll have fun.”</p>
<p>David grumbles. “If Roland shows up, we’re leaving.”</p>
<p>“Duly noted.”</p>
<p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Present Day</em>
</p>
<p>David glares menacingly at the date on his phone, several missed call notifications from his parents covering his lock screen.</p>
<p>His chest tightens and his jaw feels tingly as <em>July 2nd</em> stares back at him with a vengeance.</p>
<p>It’s his birthday, and the only thing different between today and all the other birthdays he spent in New York is that he doesn’t feel as lonely. Sure he was always with people, likely throwing some kind of party if he wasn’t off somewhere tropical, but they were never satisfying.</p>
<p>He sends a quick thanks to the higher ups that it’s Saturday — does Julius Caesar count? He <em>is</em> the reason the whole world follows this twelve month, seven day calendar. The gallery, which doesn’t open until two, took him off the Saturday turn a month ago for the summer. </p>
<p>David groans, too, albeit childishly because he’s yet another year older and <em>of course</em> he got the midnight birthday text from Stevie calling him a geriatric.</p>
<p>He completely ignored the links to nursing homes she sent him.</p>
<p>The communities for people 65 and over, however, he <em>might </em>have taken a quick peek at; the condos were <em>nice.</em></p>
<p>The three missed calls from his parents were what woke him up this morning, but being that it was so ungodly early that it should be a <em>crime,</em> David’s obligation to answer was nonexistent.</p>
<p>There was no way David was accepting birthday wishes before there was a sufficient amount of caffeine in his system.</p>
<p>It’s his day, they can wait.</p>
<p>Although the longer he takes, the higher the likelihood that he’ll receive an incoming FaceTime call from them, which is horrifying to begin with, where his mother will placate him with the whole “this is the day ‘redacted’ years ago you made me a mother” speech.</p>
<p>David shivers. He does not need to hear that story. Again.</p>
<p>And then his father will tear up because he’s reminiscing or missing his son or both, which — ew.</p>
<p>It’s not like they didn’t forget his birthday last year until mere days before. His father was too preoccupied with trying to rope Alexis into helping out at the motel until she announced she was graduating high school (ten years late). And then when they turned to David…</p>
<p>Needless to say, there’s still a lingering bitter taste.</p>
<p>He had to share a frankly delicious if not slightly incorrect cake with his sister. And then their parents sang. Their intentions were good, but.</p>
<p>Yeah. July 2nd. Happy fucking birthday, David Rose.</p>
<p>(Not signed Stevie Budd, but also not <em>not</em> signed. That was her text verbatim.)</p>
<p>David yawns at his reflection, slowly, slowly going through his morning skincare before deeming himself ready to face the general public. </p>
<p>He gives himself a once-over in his full-length mirror; his McQueen is perfect even with the odd shadows cascading into his apartment, so he nods in acceptance and heads out the door.</p>
<p>He’s greeted with zero humidity and a gentle breeze as he makes his way over to Partners.</p>
<p>Rachel bombarded him with a series of birthday texts this morning — which included the excitable Ana from Frozen gif that was both adorable and absolutely fitting coming from her — promising him coffee and a fun day.</p>
<p>David only has minimal reluctance at finding out what that means. He has his fingers crossed for Smorgasburg, but will absolutely take aimlessly walking in and out of local stores instead.</p>
<p>He’s steps away, literally, from the door to Partners when his phone rings. He suppresses a whine that will surely earn him looks from passersby when he sees Alexis’s name staring back at him.</p>
<p>He hits <em>Accept. </em></p>
<p>“Hello—?”</p>
<p>“Happy birthday, David!”</p>
<p>He jerks his head back. He’s deaf now, there’s no coming back from it. “Jesus, Alexis! Could you be any louder?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely,” she replies proudly. “Hi! Happy birthday,” she then repeats, “what are you doing today?”</p>
<p>“Currently: grabbing coffee with a friend. Not really sure what else is planned, I’ve been put in the dark. I’m just hoping food will be involved.”</p>
<p>Alexis hums. “Totally. Love that.”</p>
<p>David pinches his brows together. “What?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“You sound like you’re not convinced.”</p>
<p>“About what, David?”</p>
<p>“That, I don’t know! That I have friends here? That I have plans?”</p>
<p>“But you don’t,” she says, “not really. You should, like, go to a club tonight, drive out to the Hamptons—“</p>
<p>“Um, no. In no way am I driving two and a half hours to the Hamptons on a Saturday afternoon in the summer only to deal with traffic and then turn right back around when we get there because it’s too late in the day. And no clubs, either. Not my scene anymore.”</p>
<p>“Okay, that’s a fair point. But you should still try and have fun even though that’s, like, extremely hard for you.”</p>
<p>David’s making a face, and he knows Alexis can’t see him and that he looks ridiculous, but he does it anyway. “I haven’t turned into a hermit, you know.”</p>
<p>“I literally have no proof that you haven’t, so.” David can imagine Alexis is studying her nails right now, and he does the same. “It’s not like you update your Instagram feed.”</p>
<p>“I’ve gotten off social media, actually,” he proclaims.</p>
<p>“David, not posting anymore does not mean you’ve quit. You still go on and look at stuff. We can all see when you’re active.”</p>
<p>“How else am I supposed to keep up with Oprah?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, a newspaper?”</p>
<p>David bites back a strangled noise.</p>
<p>“So you’re gonna promise me you’ll do something fun tonight, right?” Alexis asks, cornering him, and there’s a drawn-out pause before either of them speak again; a clattering of something falling on Alexis’s end, the sounds of the city on David’s.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>She sighs. “I wish I was there to celebrate with you.” Her voice is gravelly and, <em>okay</em>, David didn’t have <em>Alexis gets emotional</em> on his birthday Bingo card, but there she goes. “It’s just that you’ve been so lonely—“</p>
<p>“Excuse me, no,” David interrupts. “I have not been lonely.”</p>
<p>“Yes you have, David!”</p>
<p>“Nope. And while I’ll admit that I’m a little shocked you didn’t actually book a flight incorrectly in an attempt to surprise me only to call up and ask me to come get you from Newark airport, I do have actual plans with an actual friend today.”</p>
<p>“That’s rude, David. I’ve gotten so much better at that.”</p>
<p>“Really?” He deadpans. “Let me remind you of the time I had to send the private jet to Grenada in the Caribbean, Alexis, because you didn’t read past the city while booking and wound up there instead of Granada in <em>Spain.”</em></p>
<p>She makes one of her little distressed noises. “In my defense they’re easily mistakable.”</p>
<p>David doesn’t humor her with any form of agreement.</p>
<p>“Who’s this friend anyway?” She asks cheerily, slyly, and David looks over his shoulder like she’s going to appear out of thin air. “Is it a friend or, like, a <em>friend?”</em></p>
<p>“A friend,” he states. “That’s all.”</p>
<p>“Okay, but do they know that? Because—“</p>
<p>“Step on a tack, please. Don’t you have something to do with your Pubic Relations degree today?”</p>
<p>Alexis does her classic growl that has David positively beaming with joy. “You promised you wouldn’t give me shit about that!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well,” he laughs, voice lilted, “I lied.”</p>
<p>He can practically hear her blink. “You suck, David.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome.”</p>
<p>“It was a typo!”</p>
<p>“Mom and Dad laughed, too!”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Ugh!”</em>
</p>
<p>David peers through the windows, still giggling, searching for Rachel. He catches her eye where she’s sitting at a table and signals with a finger as if to say just a minute. She bats her hand in response, telling him to take his time.</p>
<p>“Alexis, thanks so much for calling but I have to go, I’m running late.”</p>
<p>“Okay, but hey—“</p>
<p>David sighs. “Yes?”</p>
<p>“Just…how are you?” When he doesn’t respond immediately, Alexis continues. “Your last birthday was pretty big and exciting for you, and if things had worked out then it would have been a year since—“</p>
<p>David shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies truthfully, dismissively, as he shrugs at Rachel through the window. She laughs. “But I’m good. I’m…good. Thank you for calling.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Her voice is small. “You’re welcome. Happy birthday.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Hey, David?” He shuts his eyes briefly, humming in response. “Love you.”</p>
<p>Not necessary, he wants to say. His mouth doesn’t twist into a little knot trying to contain his emotion. It doesn’t.</p>
<p>“You, too,” he manages, and hangs up.</p>
<p>Rachel greets him with open arms, a feigned look of disappointment and a, “What took you so long?” as David falls into a chair.</p>
<p>“My sister was talking my ear off,” he replies, happily taking his coffee. “Thank you so much.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome so much,” Rachel mimics. “I have something for you.”</p>
<p>“Unless it’s VIP Mariah tickets, I don’t want it.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I had to pass on that scalper,” she says, moving to rummage through her bag next to her. “Happy birthday.”</p>
<p>She passes David a white mug with <em>Partners Coffee, Brooklyn, NY </em>arcing over a flat cartoon outline of the skyline.</p>
<p>He snorts. “Aw, did you get me a mug because you forgot to get me an actual gift?”</p>
<p>“Obviously.” She swats his arm. “It’s not like you got me anything for my birthday back in April.”</p>
<p>David gawks. “W-what? April? You didn’t even tell me! Rachel! How was I supposed to know?”</p>
<p>She starts laughing. “Relax, my birthday’s in December, don’t worry.”</p>
<p>“Oh, okay. You actually suck.” He fights a grin. “Like, you’re actually the worst.”</p>
<p>“In that case, I’ll take the mug back and just not pick up your actual gift after this.” She throws him a smirk, taking the mug and turning it in her hands. “I’ve always wanted to start collecting overpriced mugs from local coffee shops.”</p>
<p>“I am so sorry, please forgive me,” David recites flatly. “Please still go pick up my wonderful birthday gift because you’re a wonderful friend.”</p>
<p>“Oh, flattery will get you everywhere.” Rachel sips her coffee and winks. “So what are we doing today? It’s your birthday; the choice is yours.”</p>
<p>“Um, I was under the impression that you were going to plan this day out for me so I didn’t have to stress.”</p>
<p>“I do have dinner planned out,” she confirms, “but I mean before that. I mean, why are we even here? We could have gone to brunch!”</p>
<p>David does love a good mimosa. They go down quick. “You’re tempting me…”</p>
<p>“I’m nothing if not persuasive.”</p>
<p>“Is that what we’re calling it?” He teases, pitched.</p>
<p>“What about living out a full Broad City moment?”</p>
<p>“That depends…” David eyes her. “Which moment?”</p>
<p>“St. Mark’s,” Rachel replies stoically. “Obviously.”</p>
<p>A hum. “Hard no to that.” There’s a story about being twenty-seven on St. Mark’s that involves a nipple piercing, suspiciously cheap tacos, sex toys, and stealing a bong that he does <em>not </em>want to think about.</p>
<p>“What about walking the entirety of Manhattan?”</p>
<p>David bites back a laugh. “You’re funny if you think my Rick Owens and I are doing anything that grueling today.”</p>
<p>“Alright, birthday boy.” Rachel crosses her arms and falls back against her seat. “What do you have in mind?”</p>
<p>“Brunch,” David decides because mimosas and pancakes at Juliette sound fucking incredible, “and maybe a manicure?”</p>
<p>Rachel makes a noise of delight as she drums the table. “I’m in desperate need of a good manicure,” she says, already standing with her bag on her shoulder. She hands him his mug. “You’re paying.”</p>
<p>He stands. “Excuse me?”</p>
<p>“What, it’s your birthday!” She exclaims, giving David a kiss on the cheek before elbowing him right in the ribs. “It’s supposed to be your treat!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s not how that works.”</p>
<p>“I already bought you that mug, what else do I have to do?”</p>
<p>“Um, what about that gift you were teasing not five minutes ago?”</p>
<p>Rachel clicks her tongue. “I was just going to get you an autograph from Mickey Mouse over in Times Square. But if you don’t appreciate it—”</p>
<p>“Rachel.” David stops her. “You and I have had this discussion: I will <em>never </em>let you willingly go into Times Square unless it involves getting to a theatre.”</p>
<p>She gives him a soft look, bringing a hand up to pat his chest. “Aw, but I love the tourists!”</p>
<p>“You are...an insane person.”</p>
<p>All she does is hum in agreement and stride ahead of him out of the shop, leaving David astounded in her wake.</p>
<p>She’s something else. And she’s also the sole reason David left his apartment today, so he really needs to direct her toward those pancakes. She has no idea where she’s going.</p>
<p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p>
<p>Rachel said to be ready by 5:30. </p>
<p>It’s 4:30, it’s fine, he has an hour, but David still cannot find this one very specific Valentino sweater. He has a backup and it’s not what he feels like wearing tonight but it’ll fucking do if it has to. Which kind of sucks because he had a whole look envisioned in his mind.</p>
<p>David grumbles impatiently as he flicks through his closet once again. He knows he didn’t leave it back in Schitt’s Creek. And if on the off-chance he did, he needs to fix that immediately.</p>
<p>Slamming his closet doors hard enough to rattle something behind him, David’s gaze shifts around the room, thinking, eventually landing on his cedar chest.</p>
<p>Of course.</p>
<p>One by one, he removes and re-stacks his sweaters on the floor beside him. He finds it, a color block, retro-looking white ‘V’ across the front. David hums in satisfaction, putting everything back neatly. He’s shuffling the stack into a perfect alignment when his fingers graze something cold and hard at the bottom of the chest.</p>
<p>Lifting his knits, David slides out the object in question, having no idea what else besides his knits that have to be handled with care but hoping for something interesting and— <em>oh.</em></p>
<p>Oh, he hasn’t thought about this in a <em>very</em> long time.</p>
<p>Everything stills around him.</p>
<p>Staring back at him beneath the glass of a solid frame is the receipt from the very first sale at Rose Apothecary. He wants to laugh, honestly, that the first thing they sold was a Himalayan cat hair scarf which…<em>fuck.</em> Allergies. Patrick had mentioned he was allergic to cats, but he would still handle those things almost daily, then wash his hands profusely. </p>
<p>A second wave of recognition crashes over David much harder, nearly knocking him sideways. He grips the frame tight enough to likely leave little fingerprint-shaped dents.</p>
<p>Had things worked out, had they actually talked about their histories and been honest, then today, David’s goddamn birthday, would have marked a year for him and Patrick. A whole three hundred and sixty-five days. </p>
<p>They made it one hundred and twenty three.</p>
<p>Something wet drops onto the glass, a small splash, and David realizes he’s crying. He wipes it away with his sleeve.</p>
<p>This was Patrick’s present to him last year during the birthday dinner with soggy mozzarella sticks that turned out to actually be a date. That David invited Stevie to, because of course he did.</p>
<p>Everything about that night was good, like something out of a movie but so much better. </p>
<p>For weeks it had felt like they were slowly inching toward something when, in actuality, they were careening. And when they were alone in Patrick’s car the parking lot of the motel after a mediocre but no less lovely dinner, after taking the long way home so they could have just a little more time (which meant circling through town twice)...David kissed him.</p>
<p>He kissed Patrick, broke that wall for both of them, finally, and didn’t look back. </p>
<p>The devil on his shoulder, the voice in the back of his head is saying that maybe he should have, but so much of David’s heart is telling him there was never any need.</p>
<p>Had things worked out, he and Patrick would have been celebrating their one year anniversary today, crossing off and surpassing every milestone in the book.</p>
<p>He doesn’t allow his mind to wander off to how they might have celebrated. He just...he can’t.</p>
<p>David remembers clearly that there was a point where he really saw them getting there. That was foolish of him.</p>
<p>A night after Patrick had gone to sleep and left David awake and thinking, admiring every line of his lax face in the dim moonlight as his boyfriend dreamed. A warmth had bloomed in his chest as he thought about a life with Patrick. </p>
<p>It was scary because it was still so new and different for both of them. They had settled comfortably into this haven they created, knew the ins and outs and the best ways they fit together as they were marched toward the four month mark.</p>
<p>Because after all the singing and the silly gifts and Patrick proving time and time again that he’s worth everything, David was in love with him.</p>
<p>A real, true love.</p>
<p>In fact, that midnight realization was just a week before that fated day at the motel.</p>
<p>David had left because he needed space, because it was all too good to be true and it fell apart just like he feared it would.</p>
<p>He left because he fell in love with Patrick and it hurt too much to be there anymore.</p>
<p>And he hasn’t fallen out of it. </p>
<p>He doesn’t tuck the frame back into the bottom of the chest. He finds a new home for it on the console table housing his TV. He stares at it, repositions it, wipes off an invisible layer of dust.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His breathing hollows out, he falls onto his sofa and squeezes his eyes tight as a tension headache builds behind them, trying not to cry.</p>
<p>It doesn’t work. He feels dehydrated </p>
<p>Eventually David figures he should probably shoot Rachel a text and let her know that tonight is just not going to happen. Maybe he can give her very little context, pray she doesn’t question it, and blame it on a migraine. Honestly, he doesn’t feel too far off from one.</p>
<p>David slides his phone out of his pocket and opens his messages app. There’s a new one that stops him from opening up his thread with Rachel, and he can’t figure out if he should have expected it. </p>
<p>Patrick’s thread is up at the very top of the list, a little grey crescent moon beside his name from when David put him on <em>Do Not Disturb </em>the day he decided to leave.</p>
<p>There’s no need to open it, he can see it plainly, the three little words:</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Happy birthday, David.</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>He crumbles.</p>
<p>Through blurred vision, David manages to shoot out a text to Rachel, a simple <em>‘not feeling great, sorry,’</em> before letting his phone drop to the floor with a clatter. </p>
<p>Apparently he should have suspected that Rachel would be stubborn with him even on his birthday. His one wish could be to wallow in peace and watch Bridget Jones and she <em>still </em>wouldn’t let him do that.</p>
<p>So when she bangs on his door at a quarter to six with multiple bags, one of which is an overnighter that he silently acknowledges as she sets them on David’s kitchen table, he’s both unsurprised and a little relieved.</p>
<p>Her confirmation of, “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you spend your birthday alone,” is enough to get him to smile just the smallest bit.</p>
<p>From there, Rachel’s pulling out greasy paper boxes of Chinese food, gathering forks and pulling two wine glasses out of the cupboard.</p>
<p>“I’m going to change out of my jeans,” she says, turning to him, “and you’re going to open a bottle of wine.”</p>
<p>She disappears into the bathroom, reemerging a minute later in joggers just as the cork pops out of the bottle.</p>
<p>She stuffs her jeans into her bag. “Your turn,” she instructs, and David gives her a damp-eyed look. “Go put on the most comfortable thing you own and come have your birthday dinner with me out on the fire escape.”</p>
<p>David obliges, earning a pat on the shoulder as he stalks past.</p>
<p>He finds Rachel already out there with the blanket laid out, food waiting for him and his little end table pulled up against the window so they can have easier access to the wine.</p>
<p>Rachel doesn’t ask and David doesn’t start the conversation. They talk around it, and David is so goddamn appreciative of his friend for abiding by his silent wishes.</p>
<p>He climbs back into the apartment to clean up and wash his hands, Rachel following suit and pulling a face mask out of her bag. David takes it wordlessly, gratefully, and they both apply it before returning to their respective spots outside. </p>
<p>“More?” David angles the bottle of wine over her glass, freezing until she nods. </p>
<p>A smile ghosts his lips as he pours Rachel a heavy helping. “Remember, this comes off in twenty minutes.” He signals to the product on his face. “So don’t get too comfortable.”</p>
<p>“Good thing I set a timer,” Rachel chimes into the bowl of her glass. He watches as she leans as far back as she can against the wrought iron, sighing contentedly into the night. David copies her, watching the cars pass on the street below.</p>
<p>He’s not sure how long he’s staring, but Rachel hums and nudges him with her foot at some point, which means he must have been doing it for a while.</p>
<p>“Okay,” she says steadily. She pulls a small square box out of the big paper bag they left outside. She wedges it half-open and passes it along to David with a gentle smile. “Happy birthday.”</p>
<p>David gives it one look and turns to her, a smile pressed to the side. “Really?”</p>
<p>“What? It’s a cake!”</p>
<p>He sputters. “Yes. A very thoughtful personal cake that’s good for, like, three or four people. Last year I had to share my birthday cake with Alexis for her graduation, so this is really a step up.”</p>
<p>“What?” Rachel laughs. “You’re kidding!”</p>
<p>“Nope. My parents got us a joint cake and the bakery didn’t even get our names right.”</p>
<p>She squints. “How—?”</p>
<p>“Alex and Davis.” </p>
<p>“Oh, boy…”</p>
<p>David hums.</p>
<p>“Did they at least get you a present?”</p>
<p>“No, they didn’t actually. No one did.” David pauses. <em>“Someone </em>did, but…” He waves a hand dismissively, and Rachel hums again, standing.</p>
<p>“Good thing I got you something, then.”</p>
<p>“Other than my lovely mug from earlier?”</p>
<p>She disappears back into the apartment for all of thirty seconds only to return with a ten by twelve picture in a plastic slip. David takes it carefully, partially gripping it so it doesn’t slip through the grate and onto the street below, and partially because of the picture itself.</p>
<p>A truly spectacular art print consisting of intertwining black lines, curving and twisting around themselves to form the bust of Apollo. And, fittingly, at the crown of his head, plastered right behind him, are a cut of faded red roses.</p>
<p>The symbolism is a bit on the nose and he wants to rib Rachel for it, see the prideful smirk on her face, but David can’t bring himself to come up with a rejoinder. His throat is tight and his bottom jaw aches at the hinges as he tries to keep it together.</p>
<p>Rachel speaks for him. “That day at the Met was the best day I’ve had since I moved here,” she whispers, scooting next to him so she can take a look at the print. She hooks her chin on his shoulder, and David truly couldn’t care less if her mask gets on his shirt. “It was a good day and when I found this I knew you had to have it. We stood in that hall right in front of that statue for a long time. I know it…meant something to you. <em>Means,”</em> she corrects, bumping into his side.</p>
<p>David nods, eyes still trained on what’s in his hands. “Thank you.” He barely gets the words out before he has to breathe in sharply. “I…I miss him.”</p>
<p>Rachel is silent. He continues.</p>
<p>“Wanna hear something really sad?” He asks, not waiting for an answer. “My relationship with Patrick was the longest I’ve ever had.”</p>
<p>He turns to look at Rachel, setting the print down carefully beside him. He smiles weakly at the girl Patrick once loved, the girl Patrick was going to marry.</p>
<p>David starts laughing, it’s wet and breathy and he doesn’t know why he’s doing it, but it quickly dissolves into a mess of gross sobs. Rachel’s arms pull tight around him, her chin still resting on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“God, I miss him so much,” he heaves as delicate fingers trail up and down his spine.</p>
<p>“I know you do,” he hears her whisper in his ear, and it’s comforting, the gentle rumbling of her voice. But it’s enough to make David’s breathing hitch.</p>
<p>“I let a really good thing go, and now look at me.” He gestures to himself pathetically. “I’m crying on a fire escape wearing a clay mask.” He’s probably reversing the effects with all the tears, but he can’t stop himself. “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and…”</p>
<p>“I know, hey, I know,” Rachel soothes. “He’s not perfect.”</p>
<p>David groans pathetically, waveringly.</p>
<p>“But he’s a great guy. He’s so good, and he’s respectful,” she continues, “and even when his heart isn’t in it or it’s aching and he has a million other things on his mind…Patrick knows how to love.”</p>
<p>“Fuck.” It’s stuffy and clogged and it’s absolutely fucking disgusting, but tears are clouding David’s vision and he just doesn’t care right now. He breathes in — snorts, really — and hiccups.</p>
<p>“Here—“ Rachel’s shifting him back into his own space and momentarily David hates the loss of contact, but she’s handing him a bundle of napkins. “David, he…he misses you, too.”</p>
<p>“W-what?”</p>
<p>Rachel’s lips twist around. “We talk every so often,” she admits, refusing to break David’s eye line. She smiles hesitantly. “He was one of the first people I told when I accepted the job and decided to move to New York. He might be my ex, David, but Patrick was my best friend, too. We told each other everything. Or, we did, for a long time. So I told him because I was excited and it’s something I’ve always wanted to do because he’s still important to me.”</p>
<p>She takes a breath before continuing. “And then he mentioned that you’d moved here, too, when I asked if things worked out with the two of you. I promised him that I would keep an eye out for you because I knew it would ease his spirit. Truthfully, running into you that day in Partners was luck.”</p>
<p>“Did he ask you to do that?” He swallows. “To keep an eye on me?”</p>
<p>“No,” she replies honestly. “I told him I saw you, gave him vagaries, just let him know that you were okay.”</p>
<p>David sniffs, wiping his nose. He turns to stare out at the building across from them where a couple is sitting down for dinner by one of the windows. “How is he…?”</p>
<p>“He’s Patrick,” she shrugs. “He’s keeping busy and putting on a facade. But he’s hurting. Like I said, he misses you.”</p>
<p>Keeping busy. That’s unsurprising.</p>
<p>“Today would have been a year,” he says then, voice small. “We would have been together for a year.”</p>
<p>“I know all about the date that almost wasn’t,” Rachel says and David can hear the smile in her voice.</p>
<p>He sucks in another breath and holds it. “How do you not resent me?” He asks on a heavy exhale. “I was a secret from you for so long.”</p>
<p>“David.”</p>
<p>He chances a look. He instantly regrets it. </p>
<p>Rachel’s eyes are big and shiny as she brings a hand down to squeeze David’s knee.</p>
<p>“How in the world could I ever resent someone who makes Patrick Brewer so happy?” Her voice breaks. “If you think you were some dirty little secret, you weren’t. I can never resent someone who showed Patrick all the love I could never give him, and someone he loved in a way he could never love me. David—“ She gives his knee a shake. “I wish he had told me sooner — told you sooner, more than anyone else — but I can’t be mad at Patrick for taking as long as he did to realize something when…it’s not my story.”</p>
<p>“I…” But David shakes his head, his whole body, really, as he tries not to fall into a fit of sobs again. He almost fails. “All I wish is that he communicated it with me and that…” He blinks. Hard. “That he let me know about you sooner. I wouldn’t have hated him, I swear. I mean,” he gasps, “it’s impossible.”</p>
<p>Rachel leans into him. “Can I be honest with you?”</p>
<p>“Please. I’d love nothing more.”</p>
<p>“He’s scared.” It comes out lilted like a question. “Or he was. And maybe he still is. Of losing something so important. And big. Of his parents knowing, and the rest of his family. I know Marcy and Clint well enough to know that nothing could ever make them stop loving their son. God, David, when you meet them you’ll understand how they created the most wonderful man on earth.”</p>
<p><em>‘When,’</em> she said, not ‘if.’</p>
<p>And that’s…that’s something.</p>
<p>It’s Rachel’s turn to dissolve into wet laughter now as she brings the heel of her right hand to dig into her eye. “Marcy is this tour de force. She’s the sweetest woman but she’ll jump at the opportunity to protect someone she loves. A helluva good cook, too. And Clint?” Rachel shakes her head, a wistful smile decorating her lips. “Patrick is his carbon copy in looks and in his love of baseball and numbers and all that fun stuff, sure, but they also share a penchant for keeping things in.”</p>
<p>David’s lips pull tight, still staring at the couple across the street in the window. “They’re both stubborn.”</p>
<p>“Oh, infuriatingly so,” Rachel confirms.</p>
<p>“And, um…” He swallows. “What makes you so sure I’ll meet them?”</p>
<p>Rachel rests her chin in her hand. “They know about you,” she replies simply, sweetly. “He only told them recently, but I think they’ve known about you for a long time. Or suspected something, I don’t know. But they know now that it was more than just business partners with you two.”</p>
<p>David snaps his attention to Rachel. “They—Patrick told them?”</p>
<p>“Marcy’s birthday was last month and I called her and she mentioned you by name.” David doesn’t say anything, his mouth just hangs open. “Patrick came out to them a little before that. He told them that you were together, and then about why you broke up. Marcy said that he didn’t shut up about you, that she knew this was different. And…she told me that she and Clint would love to meet the man that made their son so happy.”</p>
<p><em>That’s horrifying,</em> David wants to say it but he can’t form the words.</p>
<p>His head spins a little. The Brewers always knew about the store, always knew about Patrick’s ventures with it, the ups and downs, and David had answered the phone once or twice when they called, so he’s glad he was never a complete mystery to them. </p>
<p>If he’s being candid, he never really thought about whether or not Patrick’s parents knew they were together. It wasn’t his job to push Patrick, it wasn’t his decision to make. But he also just realizes that he never thought twice about it.</p>
<p>Meeting the parents was <em>not </em>a thing for Past David Rose.</p>
<p>Briefly he wonders how much Patrick has told them — do they know about the open mic, the birthday dinner, the fact that David called Patrick high the first day they met and left him several embarrassing voicemails?</p>
<p>Rachel’s tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth as she continues, “Patrick sounded lighter when he told me he came out to them.”</p>
<p>David swallows again. “Happier?”</p>
<p>She tilts her head to one side. “Yes and no.” And then, David could kill her with the look she gives him, “He’s missing you.” </p>
<p>“My god…” He buries his face in his hands.</p>
<p>“He won’t say it, but...I know.”</p>
<p>The silence rings between them and then it’s David's turn to just talk, so he does.</p>
<p>“He was the first person I saw myself really being with,” he starts, scratching his chin. “Because he made me really happy. We only made it a few months but I was starting to see us hitting a year.” David laughs pathetically. “Maybe longer if I wasn’t such a goddamn brat.”</p>
<p>“Hey, you needed your space,” Rachel insists. “Whether or not that’s five days or five months, you needed it. And that’s absolutely okay. But I do know one thing.”</p>
<p>Her eyes bore into David’s innermost self, pushing aside any walls he’s erected.</p>
<p>“He loves you. Patrick is ridiculously in love with you and he is still waiting for you.”</p>
<p>David falls forward, tucking his chin to his chest and burying his face in his arms. He counts to ten, slowly, then straightens back up, arms still folded.</p>
<p>“Not a day goes by where I haven’t thought about Patrick or tried not to think about thinking about Patrick,” he utters lamely into the night sky, and beside him Rachel watches, urges him to continue with her big, brown eyes.</p>
<p>Quietly, he breathes: “I love him.” And again. “I love him.” And he smiles, meeting Rachel’s gaze then closing his eyes. “I love him…”</p>
<p>“I know,” she whispers, her warm hand meeting his back.</p>
<p>Their therapy session is interrupted by the shrill staccato of the timer going off, and David is somewhat grateful for the heaviness of the moment to be over, so they gather everything up and bring it back into the apartment. Eventually their wine is traded for tea and David lets Rachel pick out the movie because he feels too much like a freight train of emotion just ran him over.</p>
<p>His headache is still there, dull and throbbing and he refuses the painkillers, letting it be he settles back into the mountain of pillows, Rachel curled up beside him. </p>
<p>“You know, he spoke highly of you.”</p>
<p>David huffs into his tea. “Did he, now?”</p>
<p>“Patrick loves you,” Rachel answers simply, as if she hadn’t said it just an hour ago. She’s looking at him, waiting for David to peel his eyes away from the screen and give her his full attention. He gives in.</p>
<p>“I thought I’ve seen him love like that before,” she continues. “Turns out I was wrong.”</p>
<p>Slowly, David lowers his mug into his lap. “Like what?”</p>
<p>“With his whole heart,” she says. “Like he has something to lose.”</p>
<p>He brings his hand to his lips, fingers curling into a fist, his other hand holding his mug steady.</p>
<p>“I watched him chase after you that day,” Rachel clarifies, uncrossing her legs. “When we sat down and talked that night…David, there was just no denying it.”</p>
<p>David pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and nods vacantly. He focuses for a while on a spot on the comforter.</p>
<p>“I’ve known Patrick Brewer since we were twelve. We were together for half our lives.” She taps her chest. “I <em>know </em>him. I know what makes him tick, I know what brings him pure, unadulterated joy, I know what he’s like around his parents and his friends, the people he loves most. He might not have known who he was, it may have taken a long time, but Patrick knew what he wanted and who he was that day.” Rachel smiles wistfully, sadly in a way it doesn’t quite meet her eyes as she hunts to squeeze David’s wrist in the dark of the room. </p>
<p>“That town showed him you and it showed him love and it showed him himself. <em>That’s </em>the best version of Patrick there is. The one where he’s happy.” And then she pauses, letting the words sink into the room around them for a beat, grip tight on David’s forearm. ”That version is with you.”</p>
<p>A flash of every single good gesture Patrick had done in the few months they were together, and prior to that, goes through his mind. David had not once in his life met someone who was as kind as he was, who wanted to know <em>David, </em>not the things he had to offer. He was the first person aside from his old assistant to memorize his coffee order and bring it to him, no questions asked.</p>
<p>He was a stranger who supported his business idea (his dream) and helped him get it off the ground.</p>
<p>David swallows over the lump, his throat clicking. “Hey, Rach?”</p>
<p>She hums.</p>
<p>“I think…I think I’d like to go home.”</p>
<p>And then she’s beaming, bringing her arms around David’s shoulders to hug him close. “I like that idea,” she breathes, and David hiccups.</p>
<p>“Me, too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>He's goin' home!</p>
<p>The print Rachel gives David is a combination of these two pieces:</p>
<p>
  <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/877898978/greek-god-greek-bust-statue-art-pink-red">Les Muses Greek God Bust</a>
</p>
<p>
  <a href="https://society6.com/product/apollo-greek-god1796955_print">Apollo Greek God Art Print</a>
</p>
<p>As always, you can find me <a href="maxbegone.tumblr.com">@maxbegone</a> on tumblr!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>He's home.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Between breaking his lease and putting in his notice at the gallery, moving back takes around a month to finalize.</p><p>Everything he owns is packed up into the suitcases he came with, and Rachel brings over boxes for everything he can’t fit. He sells his furniture, excluding a few things that he’s having shipped back to Schitt’s Creek about a day behind him.</p><p>Rachel’s insistence on driving David back was a godsend. He needs someone to ground him when he starts to get nervous, and driving alone probably wasn’t a great option anyway.</p><p>As he did with Stevie back in November, they take the two-day trek all the way up through New York and back to rural Ontario in a rental, volleying driving shifts back and forth and living off rest-stop coffee. </p><p>They’re nearing Thornbridge when David’s nerves really start to course through his veins like electric currents.</p><p>Like a terrible son, David didn’t mention his move to his parents. He had to figure this thing out on his own and he wanted to keep it as low-key as possible and prep without the fanfare.</p><p>In hindsight, however, maybe he should have mentioned it to Stevie, at least. David can only imagine the push to the chest and reprimand he’ll be getting from her when they arrive. </p><p>Oh <em>god, </em>and Alexis.</p><p>It’s too late now. They’re already on the road and closing in on their destination.</p><p>“How’re you feeling?” Rachel asks as they coast through farmland that was once so strange to him. David finds comfort in it now.</p><p>“I’m nervous,” he mutters honestly, twisting his rings around and around. “I don’t know what to expect.”</p><p>“A party?”</p><p>“Mm, nope. Definitely not.” He pauses. “I haven’t actually told anyone…”</p><p>Rachel chuckles and runs a hand through her hair as she leans toward the window. “Well, at least you know they won’t kick you out.”</p><p>“Not entirely true, plus there’s a high likelihood that Alexis converted our room into a single-slash-office and I don’t do floors or couches.” David grimaces. “So if that’s the case, I’ll be stealing Stevie’s keys and crashing at her place for the foreseeable future.”</p><p>“She wouldn’t offer you another room?”</p><p>“And lose <em>three</em> to some sad family with a mending dynamic that crash-landed there?” He scoffs. “She’d make me sleep in the attic that’s, like, covered in a six-inch layer of dust. Did you know she once introduced me as one of the motel’s permanent guests?” He shoots Rachel a look. “That’s unforgivable.”</p><p>Beside him, Rachel’s biting her lip to ward off a smile. “But, David—“</p><p>“Do <em>not. </em>Finish. That sentence,” he clips, wishing he hadn’t polished off that bag of licorice. If he had a piece in his hand right now, he'd thwack her arm with it. Rachel’s lip-biting grows with her grin. “Also,” he continues, “I don’t trust the other rooms to be clean. I know Stevie; she half-asses things.”</p><p>Rachel glances over at him. “Does that mean the bed I slept in when I stayed there wasn’t clean?”</p><p>“No, it was. But I’m very particular.” </p><p>She makes a noise. “Haven’t noticed.”</p><p>“And, uh...” David wrings his hands, hoping he’s not jinxing anything by saying it out loud. “I’m banking on not staying at the motel tonight.” He turns away, fingers tapping against the console. “If things work out.”</p><p>“They will,” Rachel promises. “I’m rooting for ya.”</p><p>His family’s Lincoln is parked by their block of rooms when he and Rachel pull into the pebble lot an hour later. David’s itching to get out; it’s been a few hours since he’s last stretched his legs and his lower back hurts, but he can’t bring himself to move. His eyes bounce back and forth between the door to the office and the door to room 7.</p><p>He decides on checking the office first, silently hoping that his father won’t be there when he walks in.</p><p>“You good?”</p><p>David nods. “Yeah. I’ll be back in a few.” He goes to open the door but freezes. “Um…thank you for driving me all this way. You didn’t have to do that.”</p><p>Rachel smiles wistfully. “Someone had to make sure you saw this through. What if you wound up in another middle-of-nowhere town?”</p><p>David laughs. “That would never happen.”</p><p>“Probably not,” she agrees. “But you’re my friend. I wasn’t letting you do this alone.”</p><p>He bites his lip. “Thank you,” he says, then leaves the car. He laughs when Rachel gives him a cheesy thumbs up through the windshield, and it’s the last push he needs to head inside.</p><p>David can breathe a little easier. Stevie’s sitting behind the desk, reading a book in all her vampiric glory — though he’ll never say that because she would absolutely kill him if he did. She doesn’t look up from the page until he leans into the desk.</p><p>Stevie’s face changes five different times before she drops her book to the floor and careens around the desk to hug him.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing here?” She exclaims, launching herself at him, and David wraps his arms around his best friend tight. God, he missed her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”</p><p>“It was spontaneous,” he replies, pulling back. “Sort of.”</p><p>“Sort of?” She repeats. “What do you—? You planned this, I— Whatever, how long are you staying?”</p><p>David twists his rings, rocking back and forth on his heels nervously. He raises his shoulders. “I broke my lease.”</p><p>Stevie’s eyes widen with slow realization. “W-wait, so you’re back?”</p><p>“Mm-hm.”</p><p>“Seriously?”</p><p>“If you’re okay with having one more member of the Rose family to drive you absolutely insane, then yes, I’m back.”</p><p>Right on time, Stevie shoves him back a few steps, failing to hide her excitement. “Like I’d let you stay anywhere else!”</p><p>He screws up his face. “I don’t know how to take that.”</p><p>“Shut up, just…Why didn’t you call me?”</p><p>“I was busy trying to get everything done,” he admits, tapping the broken bell on the desk. She never did get that replaced. David supposes it’s a novelty, one of the niche things that pulls the motel together.</p><p>Granted, it’s pulled together with well-worn rope that’ll burn your hands and cheap double-sided tape that’s losing its tack, but it works. It’s an interior designer’s nightmare, but it works.</p><p>“And you still couldn’t find time to call me?” She asks again. “I would have come down to New York and driven back up with you.”</p><p>“I know, I just…Rachel drove me.” </p><p>Stevie blinks, relaxing. “She did?”</p><p>“Yeah. She’s out in the car right now, actually.” He points vacantly at the door. “We’ll talk, okay? I promise, I just…”</p><p>“Once you’re settled we are definitely talking about <em>everything.”</em> And he knows she does in fact mean everything. Stevie rocks forward on her toes. “Are you gonna see him?”</p><p>David looks at her, wide-eyed. </p><p>And then, softly, “Yeah,” and Stevie smiles. “Do you think he’d want to?”</p><p>“Seriously?” David nods and she rolls her eyes. “I have been watching Patrick sulk around ever since you left. The store’s still running, you already know that, but it’s missing you. I mean, the amount of times I’ve had to drag Patrick out of the house just to get him drunk enough to actually talk to me about how he’s feeling is disgusting. You should be giving me a stipend.”</p><p>“Not happening,” David says tightly, lips pressed together.</p><p>“Then you’re buying for the foreseeable future,” she decides and, okay, David can live with that.</p><p>“You think he’d take me back after everything?”</p><p>“David.” She gives him a look. “He’s been kicking himself for the better part of a year. What do you think the answer is? Really.”</p><p>“Okay.” David nods. “Okay. Okay. I should probably see my parents first, right? And Alexis?”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s probably for the best unless you want them finding out you’re back through Roland.” Stevie moves back to her chair behind the desk, picking up her book and folding it closed. “Let me know how it goes.”</p><p>“I will,” he promises, heading for the door. But he stops before he can get it open, hand on the knob. “I’m really happy I’m home.”</p><p>Stevie beams at him, and David vehemently ignores the wetness in her eyes. “Me too, David. Wait—“</p><p>He spins around.</p><p>“I’ll comp a room for Rachel. Just let her know.”</p><p>“I will. Thank you.”</p><p>He makes his way down the path, waving at Rachel as he approaches the door to his family’s rooms. She gives him a nod through the windshield, head bending back down presumably to look at her phone.</p><p>David’s stomach is in knots as he knocks on the door, quickly mapping out an escape route that he knows he’ll never execute. He braces himself for the inevitable yelling, but after a few long seconds, the door doesn’t open so he knocks again.</p><p>They could have walked to the café for an early dinner, it’s not entirely uncommon, and David’s about to go back to the office and wait it out with Stevie when the door finally swings open to reveal his sister.</p><p>“David, oh my god!”</p><p>She throws himself at him with a delighted yell. He grunts on impact, but his arms find their way around her back. He will never admit it publicly, but he’s really missed Alexis more than he ever thought he could.</p><p>“Oh my god!” She cries again, dragging him into their room. “Mom! Dad! Get in here, David’s here!”</p><p>There’s a muffled noise of something hard hitting the carpet in the next room, a slightly-squawked, “What?” coming through the thin walls.</p><p>The door linking their rooms flies open and before he knows it, David’s being passed around like a prize and receiving too-tight hugs from his parents. He leans into it, even if his mother is openly weeping and his father is the slightest bit misty-eyed as he keeps a hand on his arm.</p><p>They call coddle him and talk over one another, asking a million questions that David can’t find the immediate answers to. If he knew coming back would involve telling everyone the same things over and over again, he would have had everything typed out and printed into a pamphlet that he could just hand out instead.</p><p>Maybe he’d generously include an annotated SparkNotes version, too.</p><p>Eventually, David manages to say, “I’m back for good,” which earns him another round of tearful hugs, Alexis latching onto him and refusing to let go.</p><p>He nods toward the twin beds once his family calms down enough for him to breathe without the threat of constriction. “I’m surprised you haven’t pushed the mattresses together, Alexis.”</p><p>“Yeah, well Stevie didn’t want to give me any of the full-size sheets, so I was forced to keep them separated. Also, I was kind of hoping you’d come home,” she admits, flicking a strand of hair away from her face like it’s nothing. When she goes to tap David on the nose, he doesn’t bat her away. He’s missed her <em>that</em> much.</p><p>“David, while we are positively beatific of your triumphant return,” his mother begins, the press of a leather-gloved hand on his wrist, “I am a little curious as to why you left such a rip-roaring metropolis.”</p><p>“Okay, please never use the term ‘rip-roaring’ again,” he pleads. “And you know why.”</p><p>“We do?” His father asks, looking between the group, and when Alexis swats his arm, his face changes from confused to faux realization. “We do!” He laughs. “Yes, we do, of course we do, son. You, um…” He snaps his fingers and points. </p><p>Alexis groans. “Dad! He came back for Patrick, obviously!”</p><p>The only confirmation David gives is ducking his head down towards the floor.</p><p>“Is that true, David?” His father asks and he nods.</p><p>“I might have...<em>hypothetically</em> missed being with you guys, too,” he adds, rolling his eyes.</p><p>Alexis punches his arm. “I knew it.”</p><p>“Shush.”</p><p>His mother steps up to him now and cups his face in her hands. “Go to him, my darling.”</p><p>So he does, but he heads back to Rachel first, sliding into the passenger seat and slamming the door shut. No one is around, but he needs the security of the car to garner no interruption. He lets out a long, noisy breath.</p><p>“So I’m going to head to the store,” he announces into the thin air of the rental. “Stevie knows you’re here and she set aside a room for you, so if you wanted to wait somewhere other than here,” he pats the dashboard, “go ahead.”</p><p>“I could use a nap,” she smiles.</p><p>“Mm-hm, same,” he says, but he’s too charged up to sleep right now. “Really, Rachel…thank you again. For everything, for driving.” David takes a deep breath. “And thank you for being such a good friend.”</p><p>“I should be saying the same to you,” she replies softly. “I mean, you barely drove and you took full control of the music selection, but who am I to complain? I love a power diva.”</p><p>David drops his head back against the seat. “That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.”</p><p>“I don’t think it is,” Rachel says, even softer, and when David turns back to face her, she’s looking at him with intent.</p><p>And she’s right. She’s completely fucking right.</p><p>As much as he loves Tina Turner, absolutely nothing compares to the way Patrick slowed down her song and serenaded him in front of half the town in their store. Their store (Patrick’s store), which he should really get to. If the hours haven’t changed, and David knows in his gut that they haven’t, they close in half an hour.</p><p>“Do you want me to drive you over?” Rachel asks, already reaching to turn the key in the ignition, but David stops her with a hand on her arm.</p><p>“No. You’ve done enough already. I’ve got to do this part myself. Plus I could use the walk, I’ve been sitting for hours.”</p><p>Rachel eyes him. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”</p><p>He doesn’t even comment on how outdated of a saying that is as he heads down the dusty drive into town.</p><p>David keeps his arms folded tight over his chest as he walks, hoping and praying that he doesn’t run into anyone before he gets to the Apothecary. The last thing he needs is for Ray or Roland or Jocelyn to stop him for a chat that will last twenty minutes.</p><p>He’s losing daylight here. Sort of.</p><p>That being said, David makes it a point to rush past Ray’s house without a backward glance. Although he’s sure the man’s added at least three more signs to his post out front.</p><p>Was one of them for carpet cleaning?</p><p>Not much has changed; there’s a pothole from the past winter at the side of the road that David just knows Stevie always manages to hit. She’s a terrible driver even on the best days. The Moira’s Rose’s Garden sign has, unsurprisingly (unfortunately), not been corrected, but the flowers are bright and blooming. </p><p>David takes a moment to admire the little plot. It’s wrong in so many ways and the slightest bit lame, but someone’s been looking after it — no weeds, no one has tossed cigarette butts or trash into the beds.</p><p>And the café is exactly the same. Twyla’s probably inside right now trying to up-sell someone on her smoothie of the day or meatloaf surprise. David’s lips twist into a smile. There’s some charm in that, even if it’s gross.</p><p>But as he rounds the corner of the Apothecary, David stops to drink it all in: the produce selection out front looks bigger, and Patrick appears to have added a metal trough of ice with glass bottles sticking out. </p><p>The words <em>Handcrafted</em> and <em>Locally Sourced</em> still leave their striking mark in the windows, the A-frame ladder of plants is on full display, and just behind the cash, ringing up a customer is Patrick.</p><p>He looks more tired than when David last saw him. His jawline is darker where stubble has taken over a normally clean-shaven face and it’s admittedly sexy; the slight gruffness looks good on him.</p><p>Patrick is as beautiful as ever and practically within arm’s reach. It makes David’s heart clench in his chest and his fingers twitch, and with one long, steady breath, he’s moving forward again.</p><p>Patrick hands off a tote and a receipt to the customer with a smile — a smile David has really missed — and waves her off before stepping away with a box, his back turned to the street. He must not have seen him.</p><p>David steps aside to let the woman out, holding the door for her, and as soon as he sets one foot into the store — <em>their</em> store, he hopes fleetingly — he’s home. He watches Patrick in action from his spot in the threshold, taking in the way the muscles in his forearms flex as he restocks the shelf, these menial everyday movements that David’s missed over the last nine months. </p><p>There are things he took for granted before, things he didn’t admire when they should have been, moments he should have cherished.</p><p>His heart is absolutely pounding, he feels rocky on his feet, but he takes a step forward. The floorboards creak under his weight as David moves away from the door, alerting Patrick, who spins around, ready to greet a customer. </p><p>The professional smile falls the second he lays eyes on him.</p><p>“H-hi,” David barely breathes.</p><p>Patrick looks unsteady as he sets the box down by the cash. “David…”</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>Slowly, painfully so, a look of relief replaces the shock on Patrick’s face. “What are you—what are you doing here?”</p><p>He shrugs. “I came to see you.”</p><p>“No, I…” Patrick blinks. “Not the store. <em>Here.”</em></p><p>Oh, right. “I came home.”</p><p>He blinks again. “Like, for a week or a few days…?”</p><p>David shakes his head, lips pressed together as if that will be enough to steel his nerves. “I wanted to, um…can we talk?”</p><p>“Yeah, ‘course.” Patrick drums his fingers against the cardboard box. “Just, uh, let me close up?”</p><p>“Okay,” he manages, barely audible over his pounding heart. “Can I help?”</p><p>Patrick hesitates on a step, eyes darting between David and the curtain leading to the back room, but he hums in the affirmative. “Would you mind restocking that shelf while I do the drop?”</p><p>David hums this time and gets to work, placing merchandise in their proper homes. Patrick keeps his head bent as he counts out the register before ducking into the back. He’s done a good job keeping the store organized, not that David doubted him for a second.</p><p>He gets in a trance for a little bit, the monotony of sweeping bringing him to a place of comfort in a place that he put so much of his blood, sweat, and tears into until Patrick huffs out a laugh somewhere behind him.</p><p>“You know it’s funny,” he says when David turns around. He’s carrying a crate of fresh produce in from outside. “I used to have to beg you to sweep.”</p><p>David tucks away a smile.</p><p>“Really, David, you don’t have to do that,” Patrick continues, a hand outstretched for the broom, crate balanced on his hip.</p><p>“I’ve already finished.” He gestures around, holding the broom a little out of reach and Patrick’s shoulders relax.</p><p>“Okay,” he says then, shifting his weight. “Let me just grab my things and we’ll…go. Talk.”</p><p>David returns the broom to its rightful spot in the back and waits for Patrick by the door. The air feels just the slightest bit tense between them, and maybe it’s just because neither of them knows where to step first, but they have a lot to go over.</p><p>“The store looks good,” David comments on the step as Patrick locks up. </p><p>He watches as Patrick’s lips turn up just the slightest bit, eyes focused on the key in his hand. “I wasn’t going to change anything about it,” he murmurs. “This was your vision.”</p><p>Sure, make his chest tighten. Why not?</p><p>David clears his throat. “Yeah, but…you have full control. I relinquished ownership.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to change anything even if I wanted to,” is Patrick’s response. It’s earth-shattering, David pretends to ignore it.</p><p>“What about taking Alexis off the social media management?” He suggests slyly, following Patrick down the walk. “That way you’re not targeting the wrong audience.”</p><p>“She's done a really good job, actually. Got us a whole bunch of regulars as far as the outer Elms, and she even helped set up the online ordering. I might not fully understand her methods at times, but Alexis knows what she’s doing.”</p><p>There’s a pang in his chest that hits briefly at the thought of what he’s missed; part jealousy and irritation because Alexis was there to do it and mentioned <em>nothing</em>, part melancholy because he wishes he could have been a part of it. </p><p>David hums. “Does she?”</p><p>“Yeah.” His hands find their place on his hips. “I’d suggest talking at the café because I’m assuming you came straight here after stopping at the motel...I’m sure you don’t want to deal with anyone asking questions right now.”</p><p>“Mm, I appreciate that. Privacy is good.”</p><p>“I’ll order in,” Patrick says in promise, continuing around the corner of the Apothecary.</p><p>“Is Ray going to be home?” He asks, already bracing himself for a very chatty townie that he’s not ready to deal with quite yet. Ray’s great, but sometimes he’s a little much. “Or do I have to beg Stevie to let us have her place for a few hours? Or maybe a vacant room at the motel? We can go back inside—”</p><p>David spins around to ask Patrick directly, only to see that he’s leaning against his car where it’s parked in the alley.</p><p>“I don’t live with Ray anymore,” he explains and unlocks his car. “I got my own place a few months ago.” Then Patrick shrugs half-heartedly and says, “I needed to be alone, mull everything over.” He opens the car door and gets halfway in. “C’mon.”</p><p>The four minute and thirty-seven second drive (not that David was counting) is not as tense as he was expecting it to be. Patrick makes idle small talk, commenting here and there and smiles back when David tosses him a mildly fond look.</p><p>His apartment is three flights up at the end of the hall, and upon opening the door, David notes that it’s probably the same size, if not slightly bigger than his studio in New York. And it’s nicer, homier. There’s no buzzing sound coming from the refrigerator. </p><p>Everything about it is Patrick, from the choice of furniture, to the desk, to the quilt on the bed that he had back at Ray’s, even the photos on the mantel above the fireplace. </p><p>It’s cozy and lived-in and David’s heart aches yet again at how much he’s missed out on since leaving.</p><p>“Tea?” Patrick asks him over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen. There’s a short clicking sound as he turns the stove on and places the kettle on the burner. David nods.</p><p>They stay quiet until it whistles and they each have mugs in their hands, sitting rigidly on opposite ends of the sofa.</p><p>“—David, I—“</p><p>“—So—“</p><p>Patrick chuckles. “Go ahead,” he says. </p><p>“No, I…” David sucks in a breath. He stares into his tea. “Where do we start?”</p><p>“How about you ask me any questions you have,” he offers carefully. “I’ll answer them honestly.”</p><p>He presses his lips together. “I know you will,” he replies, and thinks. “Um…was there anyone?” David immediately rears back. “Sorry, sorry I don't think—that’s not appropriate, Patrick, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No, it’s okay. I…” Patrick clears his throat. “Two dates with the same guy. He was nice enough, you know, but there was no…”</p><p>“Spark?” David finishes.</p><p>He shakes his head. “He wasn’t you.” </p><p>
  <em>Oh…</em>
</p><p>“What about you?”</p><p>“There was almost someone,” David starts, scratching his cheek. “One time, but I was drunk and in a really low place.” He lifts his shoulders. “I couldn’t do it,” he chuckles. “Called Stevie immediately after I left. He, uh, wasn’t you either.”</p><p>He watches Patrick nod along, mouth pressed into a thin line, the slightest downturn of a smile as he does. “That’s…that must say something then,” Patrick mutters, and David makes a noise in agreement.</p><p><em>Definitely does.</em> “What about—<em>hm.</em> How are you?”</p><p>It’s basic and broad, but it’s genuine and all that David can come up with in the moment. </p><p>Patrick’s mouth twitches with his head as he glances from his tea to David and back to his tea again. He huffs a breath through his nose. “Honestly?”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>There’s a beat before he answers. “I’ve missed you,” he starts, a white-knuckled grip on his mug. “I’ve been a mess. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you, David.” At his look, Patrick says, “I’m surrounded by you. The store, your family...And I have been beating myself up every single day for not fighting for you.”</p><p>“Patrick...”</p><p>He shifts in his seat to face David, one leg tucked beneath the other. “I mean it. I know it was the right thing to give you your space because you needed it, but I just kept asking myself over these past few months what I could do to get you back. I mean—David, I almost went to New York. Twice.”</p><p>That fucking <em>shakes</em> him. “Y-you did?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Patrick pauses to press his lips together. “Alexis talked me out of it. She said it wouldn’t be healthy for either of us, so...” He raises a shoulder lamely. “Any suggestions?”</p><p>David clears his throat, and blinks until his vision is so clouded he’s dizzy. His mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out, and the longer he takes to say something the more and more deflated Patrick is beginning to look. </p><p>Finally, an eternity later, he finds the words: “Talk to me.” He says it on a nearly desperate exhale. “That’s it.”</p><p>“That’s it?” Patrick repeats, and David takes his hand. The contact is everything he’s missed, he wants to gather Patrick up in his arms and hold him tight, but for now, he reigns it in.</p><p>He doesn’t miss the way a tear rolls down Patrick’s cheek as he shuts his eyes.</p><p>“I get it,” David assures softly. “You were scared. But, Patrick, I...I was going to say that I would have understood, but honestly, I don’t know what was going through your head every day.” David squeezes and Patrick squeezes back. “If we sat down and actually talked about everything then I would have been there every step of the way.”</p><p>“I know that, David.” Patrick sniffs. “I always have.”</p><p>“It wasn’t like I was completely truthful either, I mean...Like, I <em>know </em>you never asked about my past and I never asked you about yours because—hah—honestly once we got to unpacking my history I thought you’d just…” David shrugs, gesturing vaguely. “Yeah.”</p><p>“What?” Patrick asks. “Did you assume I’d think you weren’t worth it?”</p><p>Another shrug. “Maybe?”</p><p>“I…” Patrick swallows, eyes darting up toward the ceiling. “You’re worth everything.”</p><p>
  <em>God. </em>
</p><p>David sniffs, setting both of their mugs down on the coffee table so he can gather Patrick’s hands in his own, tugging them into his lap. “I’m here now. So whatever you want to say...go ahead. I’m with you.”</p><p>Patrick’s hands are clammy, but David isn’t letting go for the world. He has him now, he’s not losing him again.</p><p>“I told my parents,” he whispers, and David doesn’t tell him that he already knows. “Two weeks after you left. At first, before I said anything about us, they were concerned that I was taking on too much responsibility with the store. And then when I did, I just fell apart. Cried.” He laughs wetly, wiping at his eye. David watches him intently. “They were incredible and understanding and I’m so lucky, it was just like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders finally telling them. They came to visit, too.”</p><p>David smiles. “How was it?”</p><p>“Really nice,” Patrick says. “I needed to see them just as much as they needed to see me, and I don’t think I realized that when I moved away. I was so set on just...figuring things out. I didn’t have an answer for them before.” He meets David’s eyes, taking his hands back to wipe his palms on his jeans. He comes right back. “They loved the store, and I gave you all the credit, don’t worry.”</p><p>“Thanks,” he mutters. “Um, what about Rachel...?”</p><p>Patrick nods solemnly. “The same. We talked for a long time after the barbecue. I feel terrible for wasting so much of her life because I couldn’t figure myself out sooner—“</p><p>“No, no, no.” David’s shaking his head so much it hurts. “Honey,” he soothes, breath hitching on the endearment, “it’s <em>your</em> story.”</p><p>“Yeah, but she—“</p><p>“Is so fucking proud of you.”</p><p>Patrick stares at him blankly. He gives David one long, sleepy blink before managing a jumbled, “How...?”</p><p>“She moved to New York.” Patrick nods, he knows that. “She told you she ran into me.” He nods again. “She’s become a very good friend of mine.”</p><p>“R-really?”</p><p>“Mm-hm.” David moves closer. “After running into each other twice, we started talking and went out for a drink...She’s so important to me. She was a friend I didn’t know I needed when I was truly at my lowest.” He sighs wistfully. “I was lonely at first. Rachel’s been there for me the entire time.”</p><p>David watches as the smile grows on Patrick’s face, his eyes round and earnest. “David,” he breathes, and then he laughs. “I’m so happy you had that.”</p><p>“Me, too. Um, she took the trip with me and I think she would really love to see you.”</p><p>“Of course.” Patrick sets his hand on David’s leg. “She brought you home.”</p><p>
  <em>Jesus. </em>
</p><p>“Yes, she did.”</p><p>In all honesty, she opened that door for him months ago; Rachel offered David this tentative friendship with open arms and just kept bringing him in like the tide. She guided him right back to where he needed to be.</p><p>With Patrick in Schitt’s Creek.</p><p>He lurches forward, unable to wait any longer, and pulls Patrick into a bone-crushing hug, knocking him back against the arm of the sofa. Patrick grunts on impact but holds him equally as tight as he presses his face into David’s neck, lips brushing against that spot he always chased after. </p><p>David knows he’s crying, he knows he’s soaking Patrick’s collar while he does the same, but the only thing he can bring himself to care about is the weighty feeling of Patrick in his arms, strong and solid like he’s buoyed in place.</p><p>“How, um, how long are you staying?” Patrick asks him wearily, pulling back just the slightest bit, and it dawns on David that he never actually answered the question when he was asked earlier.</p><p>There’s only one answer, even if it’s posed as his own question:</p><p>“Forever?”</p><p>And Patrick dissolves into tears again, but he’s beaming like it’s the greatest news in the world. </p><p>Maybe it is.</p><p>“Are you serious?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He’s back in the crook of David’s neck in an instant, half-laughing, half-crying while David breathes him in, his cologne both sharp and warming at the same time. It relaxes every tense muscle in his body as much as the thought of having the love of his life physically  in his arms once again does.</p><p>“You’re home,” comes Patrick’s muffled disbelief. “You’re home.”</p><p>David feels drunk and dehydrated from all the crying, but it’s the happiest he’s been since November. </p><p>“I’m home.”</p><p>And then Patrick’s pulling him in and kissing him. David never did forget the way his mouth feels, the sweet slip of his tongue, how Patrick kisses and loves like he was created to. David doesn’t let him part quickly, chasing his lips, pulling Patrick back in for a deeper kiss.</p><p>They have months and months of this to catch up on. David will happily take a lifetime to do it.</p><p>“I missed you, David,” Patrick says again when they finally pull apart, but the space between them is minuscule. Patrick is still close enough that he can likely see the scarce few greys that have begun to sprout in David’s eyebrows, infuriatingly. “So fucking much.”</p><p>David giggles, because it’s rare Patrick swears. Sex, when he’s really stressed or something riles him up during one of his little sports games. David can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s heard him say ‘fuck.’</p><p>“I missed you, too.” He toys with the cuff of Patrick’s dark blue button-up. “I tried not to think about you but it was impossible. I realized that no matter how hard I tried, that you were it for me. No one has shown me love like you, Patrick.” He takes a deep, clarifying breath as he closes his eyes. “I couldn’t live without you, I tried for eight months because I needed time, but I...I love you.”</p><p>Patrick’s inaudible little gasp is almost enough to break him, but David finds himself being held together by strong, sure hands.</p><p>“You’re it for me, David Rose. I love you.”</p><p>When they’re laying together later on, no interruptions, both exhausted and exhilarated emotionally, Patrick turns to him. He noses David’s hair, fingers combing through it enough to lull him.</p><p>“Do you want to start over?” He asks quietly, as if any louder would cause him to break the intimate hush of the room.</p><p>But David shakes his head, humming, and Patrick watches him.</p><p>David spent eight months trying to move on from the one person who has ever fought for him. He would walk through fire for Patrick, he knows that clearly now. And there is so much they have to work on and talk about, but right here in his arms, it’s like everything has slotted perfectly into place.</p><p>No, he doesn’t want to start over because, frankly, why try and rewrite a story that is wholly and uniquely their own? There’s a gap, it’s okay. There’s no better one and there’s so much left to write.</p><p>So no, of course David doesn’t want to start over:</p><p>“Why would I want to do that? I have everything I want right here.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to everyone who has followed this fic over the last few weeks! With just the epilogue to go, I hope you'll stick around for one last chapter. This has been quite the angsty journey but no less a labor of love.</p><p>Thank you so very much.</p><p>As always, you can find me <a href="maxbegone.tumblr.com">@maxbegone</a> on tumblr!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This is it?”</p>
<p>A cool fall breeze rushes past as David stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Patrick staring up at the brick building in front of them. He crosses his arms over his chest, foot possessively held against his suitcase, and counts the windows until he reaches the sixth-highest one.</p>
<p>The fire escape looks so high up from where he stands on the sidewalk below. How the hell did he ever have the nerve to sit on it?</p>
<p>“This is it.”</p>
<p>David knows Patrick wants to ask questions, but he’s refrained for over a year; even the menial ones like, “What was the apartment like?” and “How were your neighbors?”</p>
<p><em>It didn’t feel like home </em>and <em>Too quiet for New York </em>would be his answers.</p>
<p>Patrick adjusts his peacoat and plucks David’s duffle from where it’s balanced atop his own suitcase. He’s thrilled he managed to convince Patrick to invest in a fashionable yet durable item. Not to mention, Patrick looks <em>really </em>good. Dashing, handsome, sexy — all the adjectives that caused a blush to bloom on his cheeks.</p>
<p>“And Rachel’s where…?”</p>
<p>“Her building’s like a fifteen minute walk,” David explains, running a hand along Patrick’s lapel. “But we have to stop somewhere first.”</p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p>“Coffee. We’ll be quick.”</p>
<p>He takes Patrick’s crooked arm, gives one final look up at his old apartment window, and starts walking, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. It only grows the longer they walk.</p>
<p>The day after David came back to Schitt’s Creek wasn’t nearly as emotional as the day before, but it was certainly up there in terms of the amount of waterworks.</p>
<p>News of his return spread quickly enough and David was stopped by every person and their mother. Jocelyn brought him a container of cookies as a welcome home present, accompanied with her wide, painful smile, so it wasn’t as big of a conundrum as David was anticipating.</p>
<p>The cookies, sadly, were gone sooner than he would have liked them to be.</p>
<p>And of course Twyla talked his ear off at the café, but this was after he walked in with Patrick, who went straight over to where Rachel was sitting at the booth and hugged her tight.</p>
<p>“Thank you for bringing him home,” he had said, and David was a goner, viciously blinking away tears.</p>
<p>The three of them spent a long time at the back of the restaurant talking, first about those eight months until it dissolved into childhood stories of Patrick and Rachel and everything in between.</p>
<p>David learned even more about the love of his life that day than he had ever expected, some good, some bad, all from before they knew each other. It was like a breath of fresh air, finally getting to ask all the questions he’d wanted to from the beginning.</p>
<p>They come up to a familiar blue awning as Patrick is deep in a story about a high school play, so engrossed that David has to give his hand a tug to stop him from walking. Off his look, David nods toward the door with a wink.</p>
<p>They reemerge with Rachel’s usual, David’s usual, a tea for Patrick and an assortment of pastries, continuing the subsequent eight blocks to her building, and it’s an honest relief when they do; David’s shoulders are starting to ache from everything he’s carrying.</p>
<p>He leans into the buzzer at her door. “It’s us!” He calls into the speaker.</p>
<p>“Door’s open!” Comes Rachel’s excited, staticky response.</p>
<p>She launches herself into Patrick’s arms as soon as the door opens, Patrick holding his tea away from his body so it doesn’t go flying on impact.</p>
<p>“Hey, it’s good to see you too, Rach.”</p>
<p>“I’m just so happy you’re here!” She hugs David next with equal force. “Come in, come in!”</p>
<p>It occurs to David as he shuts the door behind him that he never actually went to Rachel’s apartment in the time he was living in Brooklyn. It’s tastefully decorated with mid-century modern furniture, warm hues encompassing the space.</p>
<p>“How come I’ve never been here before?” David asks, hanging his coat on the low-back of a barstool.</p>
<p>“I was in a different apartment up until a few months ago,” Rachel explains, taking her coffee from the tray with a grateful expression. “Plus, I had roommates.”</p>
<p>David makes a face. “Understandable.”</p>
<p>Patrick circles the living room just off the kitchen, hands deep in his pockets. “Your place looks great.”</p>
<p>“Thanks. Oh, god ignore the mess on the coffee table. I’ve been working on a project for the publisher and it’s been a nightmare.” She waves a dismissive hand at the scattered papers marked up with red pen. “I’m usually not like that.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Patrick cocks his head. “I saw how you took notes in high school.”</p>
<p>“And I’ve known you since before Marcy stopped folding your underwear,” she counters, smirking, and David snorts into his coffee.</p>
<p>“Okay…” Patrick falls into a chair. “Play nice.”</p>
<p>“Playing nice is not in my repertoire.”</p>
<p>David takes the seat next to him. “Don’t worry, honey, I won’t be doing that for you. You can still have your dignity.”</p>
<p>“So sweet,” he murmurs in response, clapping his hands once. “So, what is it that you two have planned for me today? Because you’ve been very secretive and I don’t exactly love it.”</p>
<p>Rachel positively beams, looking at David. “You have nothing to worry about.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he agrees, fingers drumming on his shoulder. “You’ll have fun. It’s just a place we went to that means a lot to us both and we wanted to share it with you.”</p>
<p>Patrick squints. “I’m still not entirely convinced…”</p>
<p>“Patrick, relax, David and I aren’t going to leave you to fend for yourself in the city. Right?”</p>
<p>“Ooh, no.” David winces. “He’d never survive. He’s much more the unassuming small-town type who runs a business with his very lovely partner.”</p>
<p>“You’re so humble,” Patrick deadpans.</p>
<p>“Thank you, I try.”</p>
<p>“I hope you two aren’t in a rush to go,” Rachel says then, leaning into the kitchen island. She opens the box of pastries, plucking a scone from the center before pushing it towards them. “I just really missed you guys and I’m starving.” She rips a corner off the crumbly pastry and pops it in her mouth. “What’s new? How’s the store, Patrick, that you run with your lovely partner, here?”</p>
<p>“We just brought on a few vendors for some seasonal products,” Patrick begins before David takes over, reaching for the monkey bread.</p>
<p>“The store is <em>thriving,”</em> he begins, taking a bite and holding back an inhumane moan. “We signed a guy who makes his own seasonings and we’re trying out a local apiarist who makes five different varieties of honey. Like, I didn’t know there were that many kinds! Speaking of—“ David sets a tote between them. “This is for you.”</p>
<p>Rachel lets out an excited aw and starts pulling out several jars of honey, oohing at the blackberry one in particular, a specially-curated selection of skincare products that David spent days grueling over, and a handful of other things he and Patrick thought she would enjoy.</p>
<p>“You guys didn’t have to do this!”</p>
<p>“Rachel, you’re letting us stay here for three days. This,” Patrick shoves the bag closer to her, “is the least we can do.”</p>
<p>“No, the least you could have done was brought me coffee. You brought me coffee and probably, like, a hundred and fifty dollars worth of product for your store.”</p>
<p>“One-seventy,” David chides quietly, pridefully, earning a jab in the arm from a smirking Patrick. </p>
<p>She shakes her head. “You guys are too much.”</p>
<p>David’s face does something soft as he looks at Patrick who’s staring back at him as if to say, <em>It’s time.</em></p>
<p>And he’s right, they’ve put it off long enough. The whole reason they came for a visit in the first place.</p>
<p>David leans into him. “What do you think? Should we tell her?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, baby, it’s up to you.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but does she deserve to know?” He asks, arching a brow. “She’s making us sleep on her pull-out couch.”</p>
<p>“Hey, it’s comfortable, I promise,” she admonishes.</p>
<p>“It’s just that I slept on a motel mattress for a very long time and I was hoping for a step up from box springs with no barrier.”</p>
<p>“David,” Patrick murmurs playfully. He rubs a hand back and forth over his shoulders. “Go ahead.”</p>
<p>Unable to hide his smile, David tucks his right hand under his chin, his left out of sight on his lap. “We’re engaged.”</p>
<p>Rachel’s hands fly up to her mouth. “What?” Her hands move to her cheeks, eyes darting to where David is still hiding his hand. “When?”</p>
<p>“Three weeks ago,” Patrick announces, his hand moving lower. “We wanted to tell you in person.”</p>
<p>David watches her blink back tears, laugh, and shake her head all in one movement before wrapping them both up in a hug, not dissimilar to when they arrived. At least they’re both sitting this time.</p>
<p>“I can’t believe you kept it a secret from me! For three weeks!” She swats Patrick’s chest. “Especially <em>you! </em>You tell me everything!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, and you and David talk every single day, I didn’t want you to get excited and spill it if I told you I’d already gotten the rings.”</p>
<p>She points an accusatory finger at him. “I take great offense to that,” she counters, “When have I ever spilled a secret before?” And then she gasps, her eyes widening. “You said <em>rings.”</em></p>
<p>“I did say rings,” Patrick smiles.</p>
<p>Rachel’s pulling David’s left hand into view, murmuring, “Oh my god,” over and over, bouncing on her toes and really, David isn’t sure how much of that he can take. He supposes he should be lenient — Rachel <em>did</em> deal with his emotional spiraling, after all.</p>
<p>“I’m so happy for you guys.” She swipes at her cheek, bouncing on her toes like a child. “You have to tell me everything!”</p>
<p>“We will,” David promises, “but we should really get going.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” she sniffs, batting a hand, and it’s then that David chances a look at Patrick and oh, that was a <em>terrible idea.</em></p>
<p>Because his fiancé is shifting his gaze between the two of them with pure, unfiltered adoration and it’s sickeningly sweet. David signed up for a lifetime of this look among the others that he loves so much. It’s pretty damn great.</p>
<p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p>
<p>Walking these halls is like coming home in a way. There’s a serenity as patrons admire the art around them, having hushed discussions in front of masterpieces by Bellini or Van Gogh, or the photography of Paul Strand.</p>
<p>There’s always something new, something he’s never noticed before, but for David, nothing is better than watching the people he loves admire the art around them.</p>
<p>Especially Patrick, who has never once set food in the Met before now.</p>
<p>His childlike wonder upon seeing the Temple of Dendur rivals Rachel’s first look, who is grinning madly at Patrick as she grips his arm.</p>
<p>“Isn’t this amazing?” She asks him excitedly, pulling him deeper into the room. David hovers back a few feet, watching them. “This is…this is <em>real </em>stuff!” She throws a hand out toward the sandstone. “They brought this here in the 70’s.”</p>
<p>David whistles low. “Wow. Someone’s been doing their reading.”</p>
<p>“That someone has made it a point to come here as often as she possibly can,” Rachel replies over her shoulder. “You sparked an obsession.”</p>
<p>Well, small victories. There are worse influences.</p>
<p>Unable to take it any longer, David walks up and slinks an arm around Patrick’s waist. “What do you think?”</p>
<p>“Screw the textbooks,” comes his awed reply, still staring at the temple, and Rachel laughs with delight.</p>
<p>“That’s what I said!”</p>
<p>“C’mon.” David takes his hand, leading his wonderstruck fiancé up the steps. “Let’s look around a bit. I still have something that I wanted to show you.”</p>
<p>They march an old path, rounding through the American Wing and the halls of European sculptures until the three of them come up to the familiar bright room with tall, Grecian columns. David takes Patrick by the hand, pulling him through the thin crowd to the far end where the old bust sits on its pedestal, breathing a silent sigh of relief that it’s still there.</p>
<p>He presses into Patrick from behind, linking his arms over his chest like a cross-body strap, his chin on his shoulder as they stare at the marbled face.</p>
<p>“Who are we looking at?” Patrick asks, voice low and serious like he knows David has a reason for showing him this. He knows who it is.</p>
<p>David plays into the question anyway.</p>
<p>“The sun god. The god of music.”</p>
<p>Patrick turns as best he can to look at David. “Apollo.”</p>
<p>He smiles. “Mm-hm.”</p>
<p>“Is this why you have that print?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he breathes, pressing his lips into Patrick’s cheek. “Rachel gave it to me.”</p>
<p>“And your reason for bypassing everything else in the court and dragging me straight here is…?”</p>
<p>David unwraps himself from around Patrick but slides one hand beneath his coat, keeping it steady on his lower back. “Reminds me of you.”</p>
<p>He can tell Patrick fights the urge to say something witty, comment on how David just said he reminds him of a mound of stoic marble. But then he’s whispering his name, voice caught in his clogged throat as David is pulled even closer to his side.</p>
<p>“David,” he repeats on a shallow exhale, nosing at the corner of his mouth.</p>
<p>He’s explained this to Patrick before, the day he set the print on the mantle back home; Apollo came into his life like a whirlwind, a light, warmth that combated the chill David had been ignoring. He shared the most beautiful music, buoyed him in a sea of promises.</p>
<p>David has never been poetic, but sometimes these analogies just make sense.</p>
<p>He was speaking <em>to</em> Patrick, not about the print. Which was probably obvious.</p>
<p>“This isn’t going to bring up any weird fantasies of yours, is it?” Patrick’s suddenly asking, meeting David’s eye. “Because I don’t think—“</p>
<p>“No, no, no. Definitely not.”</p>
<p>Patrick chuckles, chest rumbling where it’s pressed against David’s side. “Thank you for showing me, David.”</p>
<p>“It was nothing,” he deflects, turning back to the bust.</p>
<p>“No it’s not. It means a lot to you, therefore it means a lot to me.” He presses a soft kiss to David’s neck, breath hot against his skin. “Okay?”</p>
<p>“Mm, yes.” And not for the first time, David wonders how he got so lucky.</p>
<p>“Hey.” Rachel’s footsteps echo as she walks over, and he reluctantly peels himself off of Patrick’s side for the sake of modesty. “I’m going to keep going. Are you coming?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Patrick takes his hand, intertwining their fingers to guide him, but before it’s completely out of view, David gives one cursory glance back at the bust of Apollo where it sits in its beam of sunlight.</p>
<p>He’s not going anywhere. Neither of them are.</p>
<p>That’s a promise.</p>
<p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p>
<p>“Is this weird?” David asks late that night, shifting on the pull-out mattress until he finds the right position. It groans beneath his weight, the metal clicking and settling.</p>
<p>It’s not uncomfortable by any means, but he’s so used to their mattress back home that this one feels a little too stiff, and the city seems just a little too loud tonight.</p>
<p>“Is what weird?”</p>
<p>“That we’re sleeping on your ex’s pull-out couch in her apartment mere steps away from her bedroom door.”</p>
<p>Patrick makes a face. “I don’t find it weird,” he admits. “Do you find it weird?”</p>
<p>“No. I’m past that.”</p>
<p>“Okay, then.”</p>
<p>And then they’re quiet, their breaths uneven until a car alarm goes off somewhere outside and it takes everything in David’s power not to yell. He backhands his pillow instead.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?” Patrick grumbles, voice slow with sleep.</p>
<p>David emits a dramatic sigh. “Trying to block out every noise known to man.”</p>
<p>“Do you want my headphones?”</p>
<p>“No.” Another sigh. “They won’t help.”</p>
<p>He can make out Patrick’s blink in the dim light of the room. “As opposed to now?”</p>
<p>“I guess.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>In one swift motion, Patrick rolls on top of him, leaving a slow kiss on his lips. “Is something on your mind?” He asks, quieter now so as not to break whatever hush has fallen over them both.</p>
<p>“No.” A beat. “Yes,” he manages, Patrick watching him steadily from where he hovers over him. “I was really nervous to bring you here.”</p>
<p>“To Rachel’s?”</p>
<p>“No, to New York.” David brings his hands to Patrick’s hips, more as a comfort than anything else. “You’ve never seen me here before and I was worried that you would connect it with bad memories or something.”</p>
<p>“Oh...from when we were apart? Yeah, I, uh, I understand.”</p>
<p>He nods against the pillow. “Yeah. Or that somehow the ugly, old version of me would come out and you’d realize that I kind of suck.”</p>
<p>“You don’t suck.” A pause, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Well, actually, you suck <em>very</em> well—“</p>
<p>“—Wow, okay—“</p>
<p>Patrick angles his head. “Did you forget that I gave you four rings? If that doesn’t tell everyone I want to be with you forever, I don’t know what does. Rings or not, David, there is no one in this world I want more, and nothing will change that. Not even a fling with Ryan Gosling.”</p>
<p>“That wasn’t a fling, that was a dream I had one time and Alexis spun it in a different direction!”</p>
<p>“Still…”</p>
<p>David hides his lips between his teeth, moving his head back against the pillow. “Again. Rachel. Mere steps away.”</p>
<p>“I know.” He nips at David’s exposed throat, kisses his spot and his Adam’s apple before rolling back onto his side, hitching a leg over David’s hip to pull him close. “I’m happy we came here.”</p>
<p>“Me, too,” he whispers back against Patrick’s lips. “Although, I’m definitely starting to regret taking Rachel up on her offer instead of getting a hotel or an AirBNB because there are a lot of things I would love to do with you right now.”</p>
<p>Patrick’s brows push together. “Is that so?”</p>
<p>“I may or may not have a list.”</p>
<p>“O-oh.” Patrick rears back, suppressing a laugh. “You have a<em> list?”</em></p>
<p>“What, you don’t have a list?”</p>
<p>“A list of what, David? Places you want to have sex?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he states like it’s completely obvious. “Are you telling me you don’t?” Patrick just gawks, speechless, his eyes shifting elsewhere. They’ll be circling back to <em>that</em> later. There are sides to Patrick no one knows about, sides just for when they’re alone together and they’re gorgeous in their own rite.</p>
<p>“It would be very romantic with the skyline in the background!” David continues emphatically. “And afterward, you and I could look out and admire it, maybe you’d pour us a drink.”</p>
<p>“Ah, I see. And not two minutes ago it sounded like you wanted to tell the whole city to be quiet.”</p>
<p>“I still want to tell the whole city to be quiet, but that would have been different. We would have been blissed out in matching robes provided by the hotel. You’d have sexy, messed-up hair and get all clingy like you always do. And you’d still be all pink and flushed.” He throws him a wink.</p>
<p>Some of their very best—connecting—precludes Patrick from speaking coherently. Just a slurred, garbled mess of words as he lays against David’s chest, skin flushed, bellies pressed together until their breathing evens out. They’re some of his favorite moments; private and intimate as he takes care of a sex-stupid Patrick in the interim. It’s a beautiful little role reversal.</p>
<p>“Maybe a hot bath,” he adds dreamily, quickly piecing together a weekend getaway to that spa in Elmdale. During their last excursion, the tub in their room saw quite a lot of action.</p>
<p>David’s just feeling his own blush right now thinking about it, the heat in his cheeks makes him well aware of it, his fiancé’s shit-eating grin only confirms it.</p>
<p>“So you have a vision, is what you’re saying.”</p>
<p>“I have lots of visions for lots of things, Patrick. You’ve seen my mood boards.”</p>
<p>“Yes, as well as your Pinterest account. It’s very meticulously organized.”</p>
<p>David rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m sorry we can’t do that here. The last thing we need is to scar Rachel if she gets up to use the bathroom.”</p>
<p>“We were always quiet at Ray’s.” David waggles his eyebrows, suddenly leaning into the moment. “When he was home,” he adds. When they had the whole house to themselves, anything was fair game.</p>
<p>“But we had a <em>door,” </em>Patrick says pointedly, “even though there were times where it really felt like it was useless. Right now, we’re in Rach’s living room and I know she’s already seen it but she doesn’t need to see…<em>that.” </em></p>
<p>A heated blush takes over Patrick’s face and he clears his throat. Holding back a laugh is impossible and David snorts through his nose. He presses his face into the pillow to muffle his laughter as Patrick’s hand grips his shirt, shoulders shaking.</p>
<p>“Wow, okay.” He dabs at the corner of his eyes with the back of his thumb. “We’re definitely not risking that.”</p>
<p>“Listen, I promise we will cross whatever we can off your list on our honeymoon, okay?”</p>
<p>“We are not doing New York for our honeymoon.”</p>
<p>Patrick lifts his chin. “I’m assuming you have something in mind…?”</p>
<p>“Cancun,” David suggests. “Maybe Bali.”</p>
<p>“We’ll look into it.” Patrick’s warm lips meet his forehead and linger. “Get some sleep.”</p>
<p>“No, you’ve riled me up now!”</p>
<p>“Then I will make it worth your while as soon as we get home.” Another kiss. “Good night.”</p>
<p>David presses into his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist, his eyes suddenly heavy. The city sings outside the window as he murmurs, “I’m holding you to that,” into Patrick’s threadbare tee.</p>
<p>They’ll be married soon. The last time he was here in New York, that never even crossed his mind. Marriage alone was an all-too foreign concept to David, yet here he is now, held close to the love of his life and he couldn’t ask for anything better.</p>
<p>
  <em>Huh.</em>
</p>
<p>How lucky.</p>
<p>
  <strong>____________________</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There’s a moment in everyone’s life when they know they’re at their happiest. The hardships make it worth it, make it brighter. It’s when you get up each and every morning knowing the decisions you made have led to a good thing, be it a career or relationship or a big move. It’s when you’re surrounded by people who uplift you and promise to hold you through your lowest moments. It can be a singular person or a group of twenty. Regardless, big or small, you’ll know.</em>
</p>
<p>David has no idea when he first heard or read that, an old therapist could have said it to him for all he knows, but it had been living in the back of his mind for years before he finally put pen to paper. A shortened version for sure, he’d kept it folded up and pressed into his chest until, on a random Tuesday, he realized how true it was.</p>
<p>All he did was look up at Patrick laughing with his best friend across their store. Maybe it was the way the sunlight spilled through the windows, pulling out the red undertones in Patrick’s hair, or Stevie’s cacophonous, uncontrollable laughter that bounced off the walls.</p>
<p>But it wasn’t just that.</p>
<p>Time went on, and more and more moments made themselves known and suddenly, one day, David stopped keeping track altogether. Whoever had said true happiness equated to one single moment clearly never knew what the hell they were talking about.</p>
<p>Watching Alexis thrive in the career she was building for herself, happily in a committed relationship and safe; that was a moment.</p>
<p>Stevie’s unorthodox but highly effective way of navigating their friendship. It was the very first best friendship he’s had, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything; those were several moments, necessary ones.</p>
<p>The way Patrick will get up early every Sunday and grab coffee and fresh-baked pastries from the bakery in Elmdale despite the time it takes to get there. Or how he’ll serenade him as they close the store at the end of the day; moments, some of David’s favorites.</p>
<p>Meeting Patrick’s parents for the very first time, riddled with nerves until he saw that yes, Rachel was completely right — they’re wonderful and oh god, he loved them immediately; a moment.</p>
<p>The tearful wink Rachel threw his way over Patrick’s shoulder from her spot behind him at the altar; that was certainly a moment.</p>
<p>Witnessing his parents’ unwavering love for one another, for him and for Alexis after so many years of strained relationships, dancing at his wedding the night before; another moment.</p>
<p>And now, standing in the work-in-progress bedroom he shares with his <em>husband </em>in their <em>home, </em>their cottage, still reeling from last night as he takes a quiet moment away from the commotion outside.</p>
<p>This is certainly a very surreal moment. David’s face actually hurts from how much he’s smiling, and the tears have not stopped.</p>
<p>A creak in the floorboards breaks his attention away from his journal and he snaps it shut, the thud soft muffled against its worn-leather binding.</p>
<p>Patrick’s leaning against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest. “Hi.”</p>
<p>“Hi.” David drops the journal onto the nightstand.</p>
<p>“I’ve been looking for my husband,” Patrick says, stepping further into the room. </p>
<p>That’s affecting him in a really good way. <em>Husband, </em>David thinks. It’s sexy coming from Patrick.</p>
<p>God, they’re really going to be like this forever, aren’t they? <em>Good.</em></p>
<p>Patrick's arms snake around David’s waist, strong and steady and keeping him from floating away. “Are you gonna come back outside?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I just needed a sec,” he rasps, leaning back into him.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” He asks, placing a kiss on the nape of David’s neck and he sighs, a smile overtaking his lips.</p>
<p>“I’m more than okay, I’m—“ He spins around in Patrick’s hold to face him. He lays his hands on his shoulders and takes in the slight tiredness in his eyes that’s overshadowed by unadulterated love.</p>
<p>His husband really does have cartoonish heart eyes.</p>
<p>“I’m so happy, Patrick,” David finishes on an exhale. “You have no idea.”</p>
<p>“I think I have some idea,” he murmurs in response.</p>
<p>“No, really, I mean…” He swallows thickly, so overcome that he just shakes his head. “I love you.”</p>
<p>It means more than just <em>I love you, </em>they both know that.</p>
<p>Patrick leans in, presses his forehead to David’s and breathes out a laugh. “I love you.”</p>
<p>“Can’t we just hide up here for a little bit? We just got married, everyone will understand.”</p>
<p>“As much as I would love to do that—“</p>
<p>David whines. <em>“Noo!”</em></p>
<p>“Someone will eventually come looking for us.”</p>
<p>He quirks a brow. “Will they, though? I’m sure we could swing a few minutes.”</p>
<p>Apparently the ridiculous shoulder shimmy isn’t enough to sway Patrick, because he’s shaking his head and nodding toward the far side of the house.</p>
<p>So he’ll just have to take matters into his own hands.</p>
<p>“Babe, I know—“</p>
<p>“Two minutes,” David rushes to say, crashing his lips to Patrick’s before he can protest further.</p>
<p>It’s a good thing, too, because Patrick melts right into the kiss, tongue sweeping over David’s bottom lip. He decidedly does not make it as heated as he wants to be — they’d be slamming the door shut and on the bed in an instant if David had his way right now — but he takes his time kissing his husband.</p>
<p>“David,” Patrick whispers against cheek, indicating that time’s up as he presses his lips to the stubble-worn skin. </p>
<p>“Unfair.”</p>
<p>Another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’ll get through it.”</p>
<p>“Unclear,” he says, taking Patrick’s face in his hands and kissing him once more. “Unclear on that. My hair okay?”</p>
<p>“Like I didn’t just have my fingers in it.”</p>
<p>“But you didn’t, though, unfortunately.”</p>
<p>Patrick gives him a teasing pout as he slips out of David’s arms. “Come on,” he murmurs, but David takes his hand before he can get too far away.</p>
<p>Walking out into their sprawling backyard still decorated with string lights and tables and flowers from the reception the night before, David marks this as a moment, too. Hand-in-hand with his husband surrounded by those closest to them while someone whoops with laughter and someone else yells about opening another bottle of champagne.</p>
<p>Whoever said it did get one thing right, though:</p>
<p>The hardships are worth getting through.</p>
<p>Because he’s home, <em>this </em>is home, with Patrick.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all so much for reading and following along with this story.</p>
<p>Once again, happy birthday <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana">MJ!</a> I hope you enjoyed this story xx</p>
<p>As always, you can find me <a href="maxbegone.tumblr.com">@maxbegone</a> on tumblr.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! A new chapter will be posted every other day until the 23rd! In the meantime, you can find me <a href="maxbegone.tumblr.com">@maxbegone</a> on tumblr!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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